


Soldiers of Fortune: Genesis

by sara_wolfe



Category: Dark Angel, NCIS
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-05
Updated: 2011-07-05
Packaged: 2017-10-21 01:56:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/219622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sara_wolfe/pseuds/sara_wolfe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following up on the events of Renegades, Tony goes to Seattle to investigate his brother's so-called accident, teaming up with Logan's partner, Max. Meanwhile, in DC, Ziva is on the trail of a brutal serial killer, with the killer staying one step ahead of her the whole time. And, McGee? Well, he's hiding something that could endanger everyone around him...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soldiers of Fortune: Genesis

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the Case Story Big Bang challenge, and is a sequel to my earlier story, "Soldiers of Fortune: Renegades".

**Soldiers of Fortune: Genesis**

 

 **Chapter One**

 

Tony's phone rang as he tried to go back to his paperwork, and he picked it up.

 

"Hello?" he said, absently, as he flipped the phone open.

 

"I'm trying to reach Anthony DiNozzo, Junior," came a crisp, male voice.

 

"You've reached him," Tony replied, leaning back in his chair. "How can I help you?"

 

"Mr. DiNozzo, my name is Detective Matt Sung," the man told him. "I'm with the Seattle Police Department."

 

"And what does Seattle want with me?" Tony asked, carefully, dread pooling in his stomach.

 

"You're listed as next of kin for a Logan Cale, yes?" Sung continued. "His brother?"

 

At his words, Tony felt like the floor had just dropped out from under his feet. He clutched at the edge of his desk with his free hand, feeling the world spin around him as he tightened his grip on his cell phone.

 

"What happened?" he asked, hoarsely, unable to put words to what he really wanted to say.

 

"Mr. DiNozzo," Sung went on, "I'm afraid that your brother's been in an accident."

 

"What kind of accident?" Tony demanded, and, across the room, he could see Ziva perk up at her desk, staring over at him, intently.

 

"There was a car accident," Sung told him. "Your brother was badly injured, and he was rushed to Harborview Medical Center for treatment."

 

"When you say 'badly injured'-" Tony pressed, insistently.

 

"I'm afraid that I don't know the details of his current medical condition," Sung said, and Tony resisted the urge to snap at the other man. "My partner and I caught the case, and our investigation is currently ongoing."

 

"Which is what, exactly?" Tony asked, through gritted teeth, his patience quickly reaching the breaking point.

 

"From our preliminary investigation," Sung told him, "it looks like a hit and run. But," he added, before Tony could say anything, "we don't have any witnesses, at least no one who's willing to come forward, and we don't have any suspects."

 

"So, basically, you've got nothing," Tony retorted, and now it was Sung's turn to sigh.

 

"Mr. DiNozzo," he began, and Tony cut him off.

 

"Agent DiNozzo," he corrected, sharply.

 

"Agent DiNozzo," Sung said, emphasis on his title, "I assure you that my partner and I are devoting our full time and attention to this case."

 

"I'll be on the next flight out to Seattle," Tony told him, abruptly. "Who's the lead investigator on Logan's case? Who do I talk to?"

 

"You'll be talking to me," Sung told him.

 

"I'll be in touch when I land at SeaTac," Tony said, and then he hung up the phone before Sung could say anything else.

 

He let his phone fall to his desk with a clunk, and then he dropped his head into his hands with a heavy sigh. When a shadow fell over his desk, he looked up to see Ziva standing over him, staring down at him with a compassionate expression on her face.

 

"Are you all right?" she asked, quietly. "I overheard part of your conversation."

 

"Logan's in the hospital," he told her, feeling suddenly fifty years older. "A hit and run – someone hit my brother and left him to die, Ziva."

 

"Is he all right?" Ziva asked, clearly concerned, and Tony shook his head in frustration.

 

"I don't know," he said, aggravated. "The cop from Seattle told me that he was hurt, but he couldn't tell me anything else."

 

"You are going to Seattle?" Ziva asked, even though it was more of a statement than a question.

 

"The soonest flight I can get out to SeaTac," he replied, and then he looked up when the elevator dinged.

 

McGee walked out with a notepad in his hands, probably Ducky's copious notes on the autopsy of their current victim. Tony waved the younger man over, speaking as soon as McGee stopped in front of his desk.

 

"I need you to use your magic to get me a flight to Seattle," he said, before McGee could say anything about his trip down to Autopsy.

 

"It's his brother, Tim," Ziva added, quietly, their ongoing feud forgotten in the face of something bigger.

 

"I'll do what I can," McGee promised, shoving his notes at Ziva and darting back to his desk.

 

The sound of his furious typing filled the air, and Tony glanced over to see McGee's normally-boyish face filled with a fierce determination as he practically glared holes in his computer. Tony had only ever seen him stare at murder suspects with that kind of intensity, before.

 

He turned his attention back to Ziva, who was still waiting patiently beside his desk.

 

"You have the team until I get back," he told her, and she nodded, briskly.

 

"I will keep them safe," she promised, solemnly. "Even McGee," she added, a grudging affection creeping into her voice. "He is – not really so bad, and I think that he is just in over his head. If he would just talk to me-" she finished, sounding frustrated, and then she trailed off, her eyes going wide as she realized that she'd said more than she'd intended.

 

"Wanna explain that comment?" Tony asked, pointedly, raising an eyebrow at her, and to his surprise, she blushed.

 

"I didn't mean – that is – it is a very long story," she said, hastily. "I am sure that you would not be interested."

 

"Try me," Tony said, wryly, watching in amazement as Ziva practically squirmed under his gaze.

 

"I can't-" she muttered, before falling into an awkward silence.

 

"Just don't kill each other while I'm gone," Tony said, finally, pretending not to notice the quiet sigh of relief that Ziva let out. "I've got to go talk to Ducky, Abby, and the Director."

 

He stopped by Vance's office, first, knocking lightly on the older man's door. There was a moment of silence, and then Vance called out something that sounded like "Enter".

 

"Agent DiNozzo," Vance said, as Tony stepped into his office, shutting the door behind him, "I hadn't heard that you'd caught a case."

 

"I'm not here about a case," Tony told him. "Sir, I need to take emergency leave, effective immediately."

 

"Any reason in particular?" Vance asked, his tone neutral, and Tony nodded, shortly.

 

"My brother has been involved in an accident," he replied. "I need to get to Seattle."

 

"Go," Vance said, immediately, and Tony let out a breath that he hadn't even known he was holding.

 

He'd known that Vance was a good man, and a good commander, but he'd worked for some commanders in the past who would have made things difficult for him just because they could. He'd even been fired for lesser requests than the one he'd just put to Vance. So, it was nice to be reassured that Vance wasn't going to be difficult.

 

"Thank you, Sir," he said, and Vance nodded. "I've left Ziva in charge of my team," he went on. "And they'll be able to reach me on my cell phone if they need me."

 

"Do you need anything?" Vance asked, before he could turn to leave, and that was another reason to be grateful that he worked for the man.

 

"I don't suppose you could convince Seattle PD to give me their complete cooperation, could you?" he asked, wryly.

 

"I can make some calls," Vance told him. "Do you have a flight to Washington?"

 

"McGee's working on it," Tony replied. "Thank you," he added, before he left the office.

 

From there, he went downstairs to Autopsy, Ducky's domain. The older man was working on the victim of their most recent case, and he looked up when Tony entered.

 

"I've already spoken to Timothy about my progress," he began, but Tony cut him off.

 

"I'm not here about that," he interrupted, and some of his distress must have been visible from his tone because Ducky immediately looked worried.

 

"What's wrong?" he asked. "Is it Ziva or Timothy-"

 

"They're fine," Tony broke in, and Ducky looked relieved at his words. "It's my brother," he went on, and then he trailed off, helplessly, clenching his hands into fists in silent anger.

 

Behind him, he heard the door to Autopsy swish open, and then the clomp of Abby's heavy boots across the concrete floor.

 

"Hey, Ducky," she was saying, as she walked across the room, her nose buried in a file folder, "I've got those lab results you wanted-"

 

She broke off when she bumped into Tony, and he automatically wrapped his arms around her to steady her as she swayed.

 

"Hey, Boss," she greeted him, with a smile, using the title she so very rarely bestowed. "To what do we owe the honor?"

 

"It's Logan," he told her, and he watched Abby's smile drop off her face at his grim tone. "He's in the hospital; I don't know anything else-"

 

He broke off when Abby wrapped her arms around him in a hard, wordless hug. She held on for several seconds, finally pulling away, reluctantly.

 

"He's going to be fine," she told him, firmly. "He's your brother; he's too stubborn to be anything else."

 

"I hope," Tony replied, quietly, and Abby fixed him with a stern glare.

 

"I know," she said, emphatically.

 

"Thanks, Abs," he said, softly, as he pulled her into another, brief hug. "Ziva's in charge," he added, looking from her to Ducky. "Anything about the case goes to her."

 

"Of course," Ducky said, clapping a hand on his shoulder.

 

"You're going to call the second you know anything, right?" Abby said, insistently. "Even if it's just something tiny?"

 

"I'll call," Tony promised, and then he headed back upstairs to the bullpen.

 

When he got back to his desk, McGee was waiting for him. Without a word, he handed Tony a piece of paper.

 

"Your boarding pass," he told him. "I had to threaten some airline officials, but I got you a seat on a flight that leaves in about two hours, out of Reagan."

 

"You threatened someone?" Tony asked, and a faint blush spread over the younger man's cheeks. "Probie, I'm impressed."

 

"Yeah, well, it wasn't much of a threat," McGee muttered, sheepishly. "I said something along the lines of 'hindering a federal investigation', and they were eager to cooperate."

 

"We'll corrupt you, yet," Tony told him, jokingly.

 

"I hope your brother is going to be okay," McGee told him, earnestly.

 

"Thanks, Tim," Tony said, and the younger man nodded. "Ziva is in charge while I'm gone," he added, "and I'm just a phone call away if you guys need me."

 

"Got it, Boss," McGee said. "Have a safe trip."

 

Tony nodded, taking one, last look around the bullpen. Ziva was working at her desk, her head bent over the report that she was working on, her dark hair hiding her face from view. McGee, back at his desk, had bent to his own work. Both of them were busy, but Ziva glanced up at him, briefly, a sad smile flashing across her face.

 

 _'Good luck,'_ she mouthed, silently, and Tony nodded, gratefully.

 

He headed to the elevator, riding the car down to the garage level. He bypassed his car and went out to the street, hailing a taxi as soon as he was out on the sidewalk.

 

"Reagan Airport," he told the driver, closing the door behind him.

 

Thankfully, for his peace of mind, the driver didn't seem inclined to talk. The drive to the airport was made in silence, and the driver dropped him off at the main gate.

 

"Thanks," Tony said, passing him cash for the fare, and then he headed into the airport terminal.

 

When he reached the first security checkpoint, the guard blocked his way through the metal detector.

 

"Empty your pockets, take off your shoes, and put everything on the conveyor belt," the man said, in a bored tone. He sounded like he'd been repeating himself for a while now.

 

Tony slipped out of his shoes, shrugged his jacket off, and emptied his pockets out onto the conveyor belt. The guard raised a startled eyebrow at the service revolver that Tony placed on the conveyor belt, but then he relaxed when Tony flipped open his badge to reveal his ID.

 

"NCIS," he told the guard, who took the ID and carefully scrutinized it.

 

"Never heard of it," the guard told him, in a dismissive tone, as he handed Tony his badge back. "Where you headed, Agent?"

 

"Seattle," Tony told him, stepping through the metal detector and slipping his shoes back on his feet. "The flight from gate five."

 

"Caught an interesting case?" the guard asked, a hopeful tone in his voice, clearly hoping for the juicy details but Tony shook his head.

 

"Don't know, yet," he said, noncommittally, as he collected his belongings, putting his gun back in the holster he wore on his hip.

 

He continued down the terminal to gate five, submitting to two more security checkpoints along the way. The last security guard was a woman that he'd encountered before at the airport, when he, Ziva, and McGee had needed to leave DC for a case. She'd passed him through the checkpoint with barely more than a wave, recognizing him on sight.

 

The plane started boarding a few minutes after he reached the gate, and he found his seat at the back of the plane with very little trouble. Sinking down into the seat, he stared out of the window for a second before he leaned back against the cushions, closing his eyes as a wave of exhaustion swamped him.

 

 _'Hang on, Logan,'_ he thought, feeling the plane rumble to life underneath him. _'I'm on my way; just hang on, little brother.'_

 **Chapter Two**

 

The bullpen was eerily silent after Tony left, even though the room was fairly crowded. Ziva took it as a bad sign.

 

The leader of their ragtag team had an intensity and an energy that just lit up the room. But, she'd seen that energy dim, earlier, when he'd gotten the news about his brother. She'd never met Logan, but she knew that he and Tony were close, close enough that knowing that his brother was hurt had left a visible mark on Tony.

 

It reminded her of the relationship that she'd had with her own siblings, once upon a time. Not Ari or Tali, although she'd certainly been close to her adopted brother and sister, but the makeshift family she'd formed for herself at Manticore.

 

It had been eleven years since the escape, and she hadn't seen any of her siblings, even after she'd ended up back in the States. As much as she'd wanted to, it was too risky to try and track any of them down, to risk bringing Lydecker and his men down on their heads. She'd spent eleven years under the radar, with only Eli David knowing of her true nature, and she wasn't about to destroy any of it for sentimentality.

 

The sound of McGee's voice from nearby brought her out of her musings, and she looked up to see him talking quietly on the phone. When he hung up a few seconds later, she gave him a pointed, curious look.

 

"There's a body," McGee said, by way of explanation. "Found on the front steps of the courthouse."

 

"Let's get going," Ziva said, as she pulled open the desk drawer that held her gun, slipping the weapon into its holster.

 

McGee nodded, getting up from behind his desk. "I'll get the van," he told her.

 

"I'll be down in a minute," Ziva replied, picking up her own phone.

 

She made two quick calls to Ducky in Autopsy, and to Abby's lab, to tell them that they had another case coming in. Then, she went down to the parking garage where their van was parked.

 

McGee already had the van running, and he was sitting in the passenger seat. He looked vaguely green when Ziva climbed into the drivers' seat, and she rolled her eyes.

 

"I haven't even started driving, yet," she teased him, and he gave her a weak smile.

 

"Breakfast just didn't agree with me," he explained, an apologetic tone in his voice.

 

The drive through the streets was quiet, and when Ziva snuck a look over at McGee, she saw a worried, pensive look on his face. She had the feeling that more than just bad food was bothering him, and she thought she knew what. Not that she could prove anything, but she had her suspicions.

 

 _'What I don't understand,'_ Ziva thought, sneaking another look at McGee's profile, _'is how someone like you could possibly have gotten mixed up with Manticore in the first place. What they could have possibly offered you, that NCIS can't. Or, why you haven't turned me over to them.'_

 

It was the last one that was the most confusing. She knew McGee knew, or at the very least suspected, that she was a transgenic. Had, for nearly a year, the same day she'd discovered his link to Manticore. She'd stumbled upon him in a deserted hallway in the back of NCIS headquarters, talking quietly on his cell phone to someone named Lydecker.

 

While it was an unusual name, it certainly wasn't common. And she'd recognized the startled, deer-in-the-headlights expression on McGee's face when he saw her. And she knew.

 

She'd been waiting a year for the axe to fall, for Lydecker and his men to come storming into the building, or into her apartment in the dead of night, to drag her back to her own, personal hell. But, no one ever came. And McGee never breathed a word of what he knew.

 

She just wished she knew why.

 

Pulling to a stop in front of the courthouse, Ziva parked the van and got out, heading for the back of the van. She and McGee suited up, with gloves and protective covering on their feet, so that they wouldn't leave any of their own traces on the crime scene. McGee snagged the camera from the drawer it was being stored in, looping the cord around his neck.

 

Then, they headed for the area on the courthouse steps she could see marked off with bright yellow tape. They ducked under the tape, headed toward the body they could see lying on the steps. Ziva paused by one of the uniformed officers guarding the perimeter of the scene, and told him to keep an eye out for Ducky, and his assistant Palmer, and to direct them there when they arrived.

 

Suddenly, a uniformed cop, his face distinctly green, went running past them, his hands held over his mouth. Ziva turned to watch the young man's progress down the steps, raising an eyebrow when she watched him bend double over a ceramic planter. She could hear the unmistakable sound of retching.

 

"It's going to be one of those days," she commented to McGee, nodding at the young man.

 

"Don't be too hard on him," McGee said, a moment later, and there was a quaver in his voice that he endeavored to hide. "The scene is pretty gruesome."

 

And, as she stepped up beside her fellow federal agent, Ziva was forced to agree. Their victim, a man, had his throat slashed from ear to ear, the wound gaping open like a jagged, obscene smile. Beside her, McGee was staring down at the body with an undecipherable look on his face, although she could feel minute tremors wracking his body.

 

"If you need to step away," she said, keeping her voice low to keep from being overheard, but McGee shook his head, abruptly.

 

"I'm okay," he answered, shortly. "It just took me by surprise, that's all." When she shot him a dubious look, he added, emphatically, "I can hold, Ziva. You don't have to worry about me compromising the scene."

 

"There is no shame in needing to walk away for a second," she said, softly, willing him to understand.

 

She'd seen strong men, men with years of Mossad service, or her former trainers at Manticore, balk at lesser horrors than what faced them, right now. And she certainly wouldn't think less of McGee for needing a second to get some fresh air.

 

But, the younger man looked almost offended by her words, like he was taking it as a personal challenge to stay.

 

Ziva regarded McGee for a long moment, and then she sighed, silently acquiescing. She turned her attention back to the body as McGee started snapping pictures, trying to see the scene from every angle at once.

 

The victim was wearing a Marine's service uniform, which was why they'd been called to the case. He had one hand resting on his chest, his fingers tightly curled into a fist. When she reached out to loosen his tight grip, she saw the chain of his dog tags clenched in his hand.

 

 _'Didn't want the tags to get lost in the wound in his neck?'_ she thought, picking up the tags.

 

Then, she scowled when she turned the tags over and saw that they weren't normal dog tags. Instead of the man's personal information, which would have been incredibly helpful, there was just one word: traitor.

 

 _'If that isn't motive-'_ she thought, as she dropped the tags into an evidence bag that she fished out of her jacket pocket.

 

"Not much blood," she noted, absently, to McGee. "The victim was most likely killed elsewhere, and dumped here."

 

"Yeah," McGee agreed, glancing up from his camera. "Ducky will be able to give us more exact details, though."

 

"Where is Ducky?" Ziva asked, looking around, and then she spotted the medical examiner and his assistant making their way up the steps to the crime scene.

 

Palmer held the tape up as Ducky ducked underneath, and then the two men walked toward where she and McGee were waiting. Ducky smiled a greeting at her as they stopped beside her, but then the smile fell off his face when he looked down and saw the body.

 

"Oh, my," he murmured, quietly, as he crouched down to get a better look at their victim. "This poor, young man has died quite violently, hasn't he?"

 

"Someone definitely didn't like him," Palmer commented, as he stuck a liver probe in the body to determine time of death. "It looks like they beat him before they killed him."

 

"Looks like he lost a pretty nasty fight," McGee commented, idly. "But, I doubt he got all those bruises trying to defend himself."

 

Looking down at the body, Ziva had to agree with the two of them. Their victim was covered in bruises and cuts, and several fingers on his right hand were twisted at an unnatural angle, like they'd been broken.

 

Ziva frowned, suddenly, crouching down next to the body and lifting his hand in her own, her gloved fingers tracing lightly over the injuries on his hand.

 

"You see something?" McGee asked, looking up from the measurements he was taking.

 

"His fingers are broken at each knuckle," Ziva told him, holding out the man's hand as McGee crouched down next to her to look for himself. "Every finger, broken cleanly at the joint."

 

"What does that mean?" McGee asked, looking at her in confusion.

 

"I don't think that our victim got these kinds of wounds fighting his killer," Ziva replied, quietly. "I think he was tortured."

 

 **Chapter Three**

 

Five hours later, Tony jerked awake as the plane taxied onto the runway of the SeaTac Airport.  After the plane had shut down, the passengers started disembarking from the front of the plane. Tony shifted, impatiently, in his seat, as he waited for the people ahead of him to get off the plane.

 

Finally, it was his turn, and he shouldered his way off the plane, moving as fast as he could without actually breaking into a run. He moved quickly through the checkpoints, flashing his badge to speed the process up. And once outside, he flagged down the first taxi he could find.

 

"Harborview Medical Center," he told the driver, and the man looked back at him in surprise.

 

"Bus would be cheaper," he pointed out, even as he started the engine.

 

"I don't have time for the bus," Tony said, shortly, and the man shrugged.

 

"It's your dime," he said, carelessly, and then he started driving.

 

With the heavy traffic on the freeway, it took nearly an hour to get to the hospital. Tony had been antsy, before, and now he was practically vibrating with tension. When the driver parked the taxi in front of the hospital, Tony threw some wadded-up bills at the driver, not even caring how much he'd just overpaid the man. Then, he sprinted into the hospital.

 

When he entered the building, the first thing he saw was a bank of elevators, and he stopped short. He'd been expecting a lobby, a receptionist's desk, something with people that he could talk to. Instead, he got a hallway that branched off in two directions, and no clear indication of where he needed to be.

 

He snagged the first official person he spotted, a guy pushing an ECG cart toward the elevators.

 

"Hey," Tony said, abruptly, ignoring the man's surprised look. "Where do I find check-in?"

 

"Down there," the man told him, jerking his thumb down the hallway.

 

"Thanks," Tony replied, clapping the man on the shoulder as he darted down the hallway.

 

He reached the reception area and headed straight for the main desk.

 

"I'm looking for Logan Cale," he told the woman behind the desk.

 

"Are you family?" the woman asked, without looking up, and Tony resisted the urge to snap at her, impatiently.

 

"I'm his brother," he gritted out, and something in his tone must have gotten through to the woman, because she looked up from her computer to glance at him.

 

"Cale," she repeated, typing Logan's name into her computer. "Cale – all right, here we are."

 

"Where is he?" Tony snapped, unable to contain the demand.

 

"Fifth floor, room five-nineteen," the receptionist told him, and Tony nodded in thanks before he ran back down the hallway toward the elevators.

 

Getting into the elevator, he jabbed at the button for the fifth floor, tapping his foot impatiently as he waited for the doors to close. He wasn't the only one in the elevator, the other people with him were a group of three women and a man, all of them wearing dark blue scrubs. They exited at the third floor, and the elevator slowly crawled up to the fifth.

 

When the doors opened, he headed down the hallway to his right. A few feet down, when he found a floor directory, he turned and headed in the opposite direction.

 

 _'Twenty-two, twenty-one, twenty,'_ he counted down, silently, as he passed the rooms. _'Nineteen, finally.'_

 

Remembering the isolation protocols that Ducky had drummed into everyone at NCIS, he paused at the door long enough to be sure that there was nothing that he needed to do before entering the room. Seeing nothing displayed on the door, he went inside.

 

The soft, steady beeping of a heart monitor was the first thing he heard, and the sound was reassuring enough that he relaxed almost immediately. He pushed back the curtain around the bed, relaxing even further when he saw Logan lying, unconscious, on the bed.

 

"Hey, little brother," he said, softly, reaching out and smoothing a lock of Logan's unruly hair away from his face. "It took me way too long, but I made it."

 

Going over to the window, he dragged one of the chairs over to Logan's bed, dropping down heavily into the seat. Reaching out, he gently clasped Logan's hand in his own, careful of the IV line running from the back of his hand.

 

"What happened to you?" he asked, quietly. "Was this work related? Did you write something that pissed someone off?"

 

But, Logan remained stubbornly silent, and Tony sighed, heavily.

 

"Was it me?" he asked the quiet room. "Someone I put away, someone who wanted revenge?"

 

"Oh my God," a new voice said, suddenly, and Tony craned his neck around to find himself staring at a nurse with a bone-white face and shaking hands. "You're-"

 

"Tony DiNozzo," he introduced himself, freeing one of his hands to shake the woman's hand. "I'm Logan's brother."

 

"You're-" the woman repeated, her voice coming out in a squeak, and Tony resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

 

"Identical twins," he said, pointedly, and the woman nodded.

 

"Right, that makes sense," she said, a sheepish expression on her face. "I mean, his chart said that there was a brother, but it didn't mention-"

 

The woman cut herself off, stopping her rambling in mid-sentence.

 

"Sorry," she said, blushing slightly. "I talk too much; everyone always says that I talk too much, it's like a curse, or something-"

 

"How's my brother doing?" Tony interrupted her, as gently as he could.

 

"Well, he's still pretty banged up from the accident," the woman said, apologetically, blushing, again. Tony figured she was new. "Um," she went on, sounding nervous, "you'd really have to talk to Doctor Anderson for anything really specific."

 

"Where would I find him?" Tony asked.

 

"He's doing patient rounds, right now," the nurse told him. "Doctor Anderson likes to see his patients at several times during the day. But, you might find him at the nurse's desk."

 

"Where's that?" Tony asked.

 

"Out the door and to the right," the woman answered. "Oh, and I'm Marjorie," she added, hastily. "I, um, I like my patients to know who's caring for them."

 

"That's good," Tony told her, and the woman blushed, again. "Be right back, little brother," he murmured, to Logan, dropping a quick kiss onto his forehead, and ignoring the amused smile that crept over Marjorie's face.

 

As he headed down the hallway to the nurse's station, he passed a young woman with long, dark hair. She glanced, briefly, at him, as he passed, and her eyes widened with surprise when she saw him.

 

"Logan?" she asked, sounding shocked. "What the hell? When did you wake up?"

 

"Tony, actually," he introduced himself. "Logan's brother."

 

"The federal agent," the young woman said, knowingly, and Tony wondered just how much she knew about him.

 

He was about to ask her for her name when he heard one of the nurses asking something of a Doctor Anderson.

 

"Gotta go," he said, abruptly, as he headed toward Anderson, who'd stopped at the nurse's station.

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the young woman head down the hallway toward Logan's room, disappearing inside. He was about to head after her, but then Anderson started to walk away. Tony hurried after the man, calling his name to get his attention.

 

"Can I help you?" Anderson asked, stopping and turning to face him, and then he did a double take that Tony might have found humorous under different circumstances.

 

"Agent Anthony DiNozzo," he introduced himself, before Anderson could say anything. "Logan Cale is my brother, and one of your patients."

 

"Cale, right," Anderson said, glancing down at the files in his hands. "Hit and run victim."

 

"How is he?" Tony asked. "He looked pretty bad, when I saw him."

 

Anderson nodded at a secluded alcove, gesturing to one of the chairs while he took the other.

 

"Mr. – Agent – DiNozzo," he corrected himself. "I'll be honest with you; your brother is not in good shape."

 

"He got hit by a car," Tony felt compelled to point out.

 

"Logan has suffered several major injuries," Anderson told him. "Fractures of several ribs, his right femur, and his left radius. Lacerations of several large muscles in his legs. A dislocated left shoulder, and both hips. And-"

 

"And-" Tony prompted, when Anderson trailed off.

 

"His spinal column was severely damaged, and he suffered serious intracranial damage," Anderson finished, a grim tone in his voice. "Agent DiNozzo, your brother is likely to be paralyzed when he wakes up. If-" he corrected himself, quietly. "If he wakes up."

 

"When," Tony told him, to the man's surprised expression. "Doc, my brother is a fighter. He's not going to let this stop him. He is waking up."

 

"You do have to prepare yourself-"Anderson started, but Tony cut him off.

 

"He is waking up," he said, emphatically. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go back and sit with my brother."

 

Getting up, he headed down the hallway back toward Logan's room. He was only a few feet away from the door when he started to get an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

 

And a second later, the doorway exploded, sending him flying back down the hallway.

 

 **Chapter Four**

 

The explosion sent Tony flying down the hallway, and he landed, heavily on the floor. His head was pounding, and his ears were ringing, and everything was spinning in front of his eyes. He could hear frantic screaming that sounded like it was coming from a distance, and when he tried to push himself to his feet, his arms buckled underneath him as soon as he put any weight on them, sending him crashing back to the floor.

 

Stubbornly, he tried again, and he was finally able to push himself up. He swayed, dangerously, once he was back on his feet, but he swallowed, hard, popping his ears, and the vertigo passed.

 

"Logan," he gritted out, staggering down the hallway. "Logan-"

 

A few feet down the hallway, a young woman was pushing herself slowly to her feet, and Tony recognized the woman who'd stopped him on her way to Logan's room. A moment later, he realized that the woman had been sprawled out on top of Logan – who was lying in a crumpled heap in the middle of the hallway.

 

Tony staggered to Logan's side, dropping down beside his brother just as the young woman stood up. She was looking at the destroyed hospital room, a dark expression on her face. Then, she started down the hallway.

 

"Hey!" Tony barked, his scattered brain catching up to him as he watched her leave. "Stop right there!"

 

But, the woman kept moving, breaking into a run and disappearing down the hallway. Swearing under his breath, Tony grabbed the first person he saw, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw Marjorie's shocked features.

 

"I need you to stay with my brother," he told her, and the young woman nodded, slowly.

 

"I will," she promised, her voice shaking. "I'll-"

 

"Stay with him until I come back," Tony stressed, as the woman knelt down beside him. "Please. It's important."

 

"I will," Marjorie repeated, her voice stronger. "I won't leave him, I promise."

 

"Thank you," Tony told her, gratefully, and then he pushed himself to his feet and bolted down the hall.

 

When he reached the end of the hallway, he grabbed the nearest person and flashed his badge in the man's face.

 

"A woman came this way," he snapped, impatiently. "Dark hair, about five-two – which way did she go?"

 

"Down there," the man told him, pointing down a side hallway. "Toward the stairs, I think."

 

"Thanks," Tony called back, as he sprinted in the direction the man indicated.

 

He passed the elevators by in favor of heading for the stairwell, too impatient to wait. He pushed the door open, and was about to go down the stairs when he saw an ashy boot print on the stairs headed toward the roof.

 

 _'She can't possibly be thinking of escaping that way,'_ he thought, dumbfounded, but he charged up the stairs, regardless.

 

At the top of the stairwell, he hit the door and charged out onto the rooftop, blinking at the bright sun that blinded him. He could see the dark-haired woman at the edge of the roof, and for one wild moment, he thought that she was going to jump.

 

He shielded his eyes from the sun in time to see the woman jump off the edge, and he bolted toward the spot where she'd been standing. He looked down, expecting to see her body sprawled brokenly on the sidewalk, below. Instead, he saw her, five feet down, running across a construction catwalk that had been erected between the hospital and the neighboring building.

 

The woman ran across the thin piece of wood as surely as if she was running on a sidewalk. Then, to his amazement, when she reached the end of the catwalk, the woman jumped straight into the air, lading lightly on the edge of the roof of the other building.

 

 _'You're not getting away that easily,'_ Tony thought, determinedly, and then before he could think about what he was doing, he swung his legs over the edge of the building and dropped onto the catwalk.

 

The wood shuddered under his weight, but held, miraculously, and he breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Then, resolutely ignoring the nine-story drop beneath his feet, he started across the all-too-thin piece of wood.

 

He breathed another sigh of relief when he reached the other side. Reaching up, he snagged the edge of the roof and hauled himself up, his shoulders burning from the effort of having to support all his weight with his arms. But, he made it up, and swung lightly onto the rooftop.

 

 _"I guess the Rhode Island Military Academy was good for something, after all,'_ he thought, wryly, remembering endless physical drills as a teenager.

 

Reaching for his gun where it rested in its holster, he freed the weapon as he scanned the rooftop, looking for the woman. He couldn't see her, but there was a ventilation shaft on the other side of the roof, and he figured that was as good a place to hide as any.

 

Moving quietly across the rooftop, he held his gun ready in his hands. When he reached the ventilation shaft, he paused, peering carefully around the metal structure.

 

The woman was on the other side, her dark hair flying around her face. And she was engaged in a fight with another woman. For a second, Tony couldn't see the other woman's features, but then she moved, and his hands tightened on his weapon, convulsively.

 

"Ziva?" he said, incredulously, and the first woman, the one he'd chased, looked around at the sound of his voice.

 

Her opponent got in a glancing blow to the side of the woman's face that had her staggering backward. Ziva followed up the punch with a vicious kick that knocked the woman to the ground, but the woman rolled away, bounding to her feet and dancing backward, out of Ziva's reach.

 

Ziva pursued the woman, and she got close enough to Tony that he realized that she wasn't who he thought she was. Ziva had a scar on the side of her temple, from where a suspect had hit her with a broken beer bottle six months ago. This woman had no such mark on her face.

 

"I was just following orders, Four-Five-Two!" the Ziva-clone called out, clearly continuing a discussion the women had been having before he'd arrived. "You remember what that means, don't you?"

 

"You tried to kill my partner!" the first woman snapped, fury in her voice. "And innocent people are injured, possibly dead – what were you thinking?"

 

"I had my orders," the second woman insisted, stubbornly. "And, if you hadn't interfered, that nosy journalist would be the only one dead."

 

Tony didn't realize that he'd aimed his gun at the woman until he saw her in his sights.

 

"Federal agent!" he barked, startling both women. "Get down on the ground, and put your hands behind your head!"

 

Ziva's look-alike whirled around, a surprised expression crossing her face when she saw Tony.

 

"You!" she snarled, furiously. "How are you-"

 

"You missed," Tony said, dryly, keeping his gun trained steadily on her heart. "Get down on the ground."

 

The woman smirked at him, lunging forward, and Tony moved the gun, slightly, pulling the trigger. The woman jerked, yelling in shock and pain when the bullet was buried in her leg.

 

"Get down on the ground," Tony repeated, his voice even as he pointed the gun at the woman's chest, again. "Or, the next shot goes through your heart."

 

Off to the side, the first woman had frozen, looking between the two of them like she was watching a tennis match. She moved slowly toward the other woman, probably to try and intercept her, but then the second woman moved, almost faster than Tony could see.

 

She grabbed the first woman, pushing her in front of her like a shield, and Tony instinctively jerked his gun away, aiming toward the rooftop. And then, before either of them could stop her, the woman bolted across the rooftop and jumped over the edge.

 

Tony ran after her, but she wasn't anywhere to be seen. She'd just vanished, seemingly into thin air.

 

"Don't even bother," an irritated voice said, from behind him. "She'll have had an escape route already mapped out, from here."

 

Tony looked over as the first woman joined him, an annoyed expression on her face.

 

"I take it she's the one who tried to kill my brother?" he asked, quietly, and the woman nodded.

 

"Long-range hand cannon," she said, shortly.

 

"And you were shielding Logan," Tony guessed, remembering how he'd found the two of them in the hallway. "You saved his life."

 

"He's my partner," she said, quietly, jerking her shoulder in a shrug. "I need to get back down there, in case Kade tries again."

 

"Kade?" Tony echoed.

 

"Our would-be assassin," the woman said, nodding at the space where the other woman had disappeared. "The one you called Ziva."

 

"And who are you?" Tony demanded, catching up to the woman as she stalked back across the rooftop.

 

The woman stopped by the fire escape, turning to him and holding out her hand for him to shake.

 

"Detective Max Gibbs," she introduced herself.

 

 **Chapter Five**

 

When she stepped off the elevator on the floor with Abby's lab, Ziva could hear the noise from the younger woman's stereo pounding all the way down the hall. The noise – she could hardly call it music – only got louder as she got closer to the forensics lab, and she flinched when the sound hit her sensitive ears.

 

She pushed the door open, entering the lab to see Abby standing in the middle of the room, dancing in place as she worked with her various machines. Moving along the edge of the room, Ziva flicked the stereo off.

 

That got Abby's attention faster than any words would have, and she whirled around with a furious glare on her face. But, the expression morphed into a grin when she saw Ziva.

 

"Hey, Ziva!" she exclaimed, happily. "What brings you down to my home away from home?"

 

"I was hoping you had an update for me," Ziva told her. "Our victim's name, perhaps?"

 

"DNA results are still running," Abby said, apologetically. "You know, this would be going so much faster if our murderer hadn't mutilated the victim's hands and taken out his teeth."

 

"I'll be sure to pass that on whenever we arrest whoever did it," Ziva said, dryly. Shaking her head, she added, "Our murderer certainly wasn't an idiot; he or she knew exactly what to do to hide the victim's identity."

 

"Well," Abby said, gesturing to the whirring machines around them, "I've got the troops working overtime to get us some answers."

 

"Thank you, Abby," Ziva told her, as the younger woman beamed. "I have to go talk to Ducky about the autopsy; you'll call me when you find out anything?"

 

"Absolutely," Abby reassured her. Then, before Ziva could head for the door, she added, almost hesitantly, "It's been a few hours since Tony left this morning. Do you think he knows anything about his brother?"

 

"He promised that he would call and keep us updated," Ziva reminded her.

 

"Yeah, I know," Abby said, "but, you know how the Boss gets, especially when he's stressed out about things. Do you think we should give him a call?"

 

Ziva glanced down at her watch, considering the younger woman's request.

 

"Let's give him some more time," she suggested. "And, if he hasn't called in an hour, I'll call him, then."

 

Leaving the lab, she headed down the hallway to the elevator, intending to stop at autopsy to talk to Ducky, next. She'd just boarded the elevator car when her cell phone rang, and she flipped the phone open as she hit the button for the basement, leaning against the wall.

 

"McGee," she greeted her fellow agent, when she saw his name on the screen. "Any progress on our victim?"

 

"Nothing, yet," McGee told her. "Ziva, I've got to go out for a bit."

 

"Out?" Ziva echoed, incredulously. "McGee, we're in the middle of an investigation."

 

"I know," McGee said, and, even over the staticky connection, he sounded frustrated and angry. "But, this came up suddenly, and it's important, and I'll only be gone for an hour or two."

 

Ziva didn't have time to say anything else as the connection was lost. She said a few choice words in Hebrew that she knew would get her a smack in the head from Tony if he heard her.

 

"I'm not waiting an hour," she said to the elevator wall and punched the button to take her up.

 

As soon as the doors opened to the floor she stormed across the bullpen to where their desks were. McGee's chair was empty when she got there, but the cup of coffee sitting on the edge of the desk still had steam coming from it, indicating that he'd just left, and most likely in a hurry.

 

"Where did McGee go?" she demanded, brusquely, of a passing intern, and the young man looked incredibly confused for a second.

 

"Oh, you mean Agent McGee?" he said, the confusion clearing from his face. "Uh, I think I saw him headed toward the stairs."

 

Ziva huffed out an irritated sigh, spinning on her heel and going back the way she'd come. She bypassed the elevator for the stairwell immediately to the right of it, hoping to catch McGee still heading down. She ran down the stairs, taking them two at a time and cursing even the slight lead that McGee had on her.

 

She reached the bottom of the stairwell without running into the other agent, and she burst out of the door into the parking garage. The door banged against the concrete wall from the force of her shove, the sound echoing throughout the cavernous space.

 

She started running across the garage to where she knew McGee had his car parked, and she reached his usual space in time to see taillights heading toward the exit. She cursed under her breath, but before she could make up her mind whether or not to go after him, her cell phone rang.

 

"What?" she snapped, frustrated, as she glared after McGee's disappearing car.

 

"Ziva?" Ducky's voice sounded tinny and distant over the line. "Where are you?"

 

"I'm down in the parking garage," Ziva told him, turning and heading back toward the elevator.

 

"What are you doing all the way down there?" Ducky asked, sounding genuinely confused, and Ziva sighed.

 

"Chasing McGee," she said, shortly. "I'm on my way up, now, Ducky. What's going on?"

 

"I've finished my autopsy of our most recent guest," Ducky told her. "And I found something that I think you should see."

 

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 

Max tipped her head back to watch Logan's brother as he came down the fire escape behind her. DiNozzo was working his way slowly down the rickety metal ladder, his steps careful and deliberate. He was also very carefully not looking down as he climbed down the ladder, and she wondered if he had some kind of fear of heights.

 

When they reached the ground, Max jerked her head, wordlessly, toward the street. DiNozzo fell into step beside her, his longer legs eating up the distance, although she had no trouble keeping up with him.

 

"So, how long have you and Logan known each other?" DiNozzo asked, breaking the silence that had fallen between them.

 

"Professionally," Max told him, "about three years. He kept showing up at my crime scenes, asking nosy questions, and he wouldn't take no for an answer. Still doesn't," she added, with a wry twist of her lips.

 

"Up on the roof," DiNozzo prompted, "you called Logan your partner."

 

There was a strange tone in his voice, and Max snuck a look over at the man to see an intense expression on his face as he watched her. After a second, she realized that he wasn't just making idle conversation, he was trying to determine exactly how close that she and Logan really were.

 

 _'Still not sure if you can trust me, huh?'_ she thought, not sure if she should feel insulted, or not.

 

But, after a second, she decided that she could understand where he was coming from. Over the last six months, Logan had talked a lot about his brother, and about how close they had always been, despite having half a continent between them for most of their lives. She knew how she'd be reacting if she'd gotten a phone call telling her that any of her siblings had been hurt, and she couldn't very well expect anything less from DiNozzo.

 

"Logan and I have been working together for about six months," she told him, finally answering his tense statement. "We had similar investigations that dovetailed."

 

She paused, wondering exactly how much she should reveal to the federal agent. After all, just because Logan knew about Manticore, that didn't mean that he kept his brother in the loop.

 

 _'DiNozzo might not know anything about what his brother is working on,'_ she thought, but when she saw DiNozzo's eyes sharpen as he looked at her, she started to doubt that.

 

"Logan only has one ongoing investigation at the moment," he said, softly. "And he wouldn't involve just anyone in it, not with how dangerous things have gotten in the past."

 

"Danger's nothing new to me," Max replied, just as quietly, and DiNozzo snorted out a laugh as he looked at her.

 

"I can tell," he remarked. "Especially if your performance up on the roof is any kind of indication. You certainly looked like you could more than handle yourself."

 

Max stared at the other man for a moment, thinking. Then, she took a chance, figuring that if Logan had trusted him, then she could do the same.

 

"Manticore," she said, quietly, and she watched as DiNozzo's eyes widened in startled recognition.

 

"What do you know about Manticore?" he asked, his voice barely rising above a whisper.

 

"I don't know about Manticore," Max corrected him, as she swept her long hair off the back of her neck to reveal her barcode, "I am Manticore."

 

 **Chapter Six**

 

Tony stared at Gibbs in a kind of stunned silence. A million thoughts were whirling through his brain as he stared at her barcode in shock. And all of them kept coming back to Ziva and her mysterious tattoo.

 

 _'Is this what she's been hiding this whole time?'_ he thought, taken aback by what he'd just inadvertently learned about his teammate and partner. _'She's one of Manticore's transgenics?'_

 

The whole thing sounded completely unbelievable. But, the more he thought about it, the more it started to make sense. Ziva's extraordinary fighting skills, her ability to handle a gun, the almost uncanny intelligence that she'd displayed on more than one occasion – sure, all of it could have been explained by her Mossad training. But, given what he'd seen from other Mossad officers in their brief sojourns to the States, it now seemed a lot more likely that any Mossad training that she'd received had only enhanced her Manticore beginnings.

 

Tony had kept himself informed about Logan's research into Manticore, wanting to know exactly what his brother was getting himself into, to be able to better protect him. He knew a lot about Manticore, probably even more than Logan was aware that he knew. He knew about Manticore's super soldier program, about their forays into genetic research and manipulation.

 

But, he never could have dreamed that Ziva David, of all people, could have ever been a part of it. No matter how much sense it seemed to make.

 

 _'If she's really a transgenic,'_ he thought, _'then why is she working for the federal government? What is this Gibbs doing working for the Seattle PD? And why would another transgenic try to kill my brother?'_

 

"Going to say anything?" Gibbs asked, breaking into his thoughts, and Tony stared at her, numbly, for a second before blurting out the first thing that came to mind.

 

"What's a military grade trained killer doing working for the cops?" he demanded.

 

Gibbs shot him a suspicious look, surprise written clearly on her face.

 

"Logan had the same reaction," she remarked, idly. "I was surprised, with all of his research into Manticore, that he hadn't found out about the escape."

 

"What escape?" Tony asked, suspiciously, keeping his voice low to avoid being overheard by anyone standing on the sidewalk.

 

"Logan said the same thing," Gibbs told him, and Tony shot her a mildly irritated look. "Back in ninety," Gibbs went on, after a minute, "my unit escaped from Manticore."

 

She trailed off, looking at him, expectantly, and Tony had no real trouble filling in everything she was leaving unsaid. His own research into Manticore had revealed it to be a brutal, hellish place, and he had no doubt that anyone would be more than willing to try and get away from it. He just couldn't imagine a bunch of children – young children, he amended to himself, remembering the date she'd told him – managing to get away from the compound.

 

"You were," he began, but then he trailed off, unsure of how to finish his sentence.

 

"I was nine years old," Gibbs told him, as they rounded the corner and headed into the lobby of Harborview. "It was the middle of winter, and we were running for our lives. We were wearing these stupid, hospital issue nightgowns, and it was freezing. Probably ten below, it was so cold. Anyone else would have died out there. But, we just kept running."

 

"And, you escaped," Tony prompted, gently, when she trailed off, a thoughtful expression on her face.

 

"One of our training sergeants helped us," Gibbs replied, after a moment. "He helped us get away, and he took me in when I had nowhere else to go. He and his wife raised me, and my brothers and sisters. They made me the person I am, today." She shot him a pointed look. "The only thing Manticore ever gave me was my genetics; everything else, I owe to Leroy Jethro Gibbs."

 

"He sounds like a good guy," Tony remarked, stabbing the up button on the elevator console.

 

"The best," Gibbs told him.

 

"What about Logan's would-be assassin?" Tony asked, darkly.

 

"Kade is part of the X-five-R class," Gibbs replied. "After our escape, our twin unit went through re-education, at least according to my father. Our brainwashing was bad; theirs was worse. Kade is little more than their tool, now." She paused, clearly thinking, and then she added, "You seemed to recognize her up on the roof. How is that?"

 

"She looks like someone I work with," Tony told her. "Like her identical twin," he added, pointedly. "Her name is Ziva," he finished, and Gibbs looked at him, curiously, at the name.

 

"I had a sister called Ziva," she said, softly. "I haven't seen her since the escape."

 

Tony nodded, thoughtfully, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket.

 

"How'd you like to talk to her?" he asked, and Gibbs' eyes lit up as he scrolled down the list to Ziva's number.

 

Dialing his phone, he listened to the ringing on the other end. Then, when his partner picked up the phone, he shot Gibbs a grin.

 

"Hey, Ziva," he greeted her, listening to her cheerful voice on the other end of the line.

 

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 

When Ziva reached Autopsy, Ducky and his latest assistant, Jimmy Palmer, were waiting for her. Both of the men had grim, serious expressions on their faces, and Ziva wondered what Ducky was about to tell her about their latest victim. She didn't have long to wonder, though, because Ducky signaled her over to the steel examining table that he was standing by as soon as he saw her.

 

"You're going to want to see this," he started, without preamble, and she knew it was bad if Ducky was dispensing with regaling her with one of his usual stories.

 

"What am I looking at?" she asked, as she stepped up to the table, and then she looked down at the body.

 

The young Marine was laid open on the table, his chest open in a neat, precise Y cut. His internal organs had been removed and set aside on various trays for individual dissection, and his ribs jutted out from under his skin.

 

The vicious slash on his throat had gaped open, leering at her like an obscene smile. She shuddered, looking at it, focusing, instead, on his face. Ducky had tried to do what he could, but nothing could completely erase the look of complete and utter fear that had fixed itself on the young man's face at the time of his death.

 

 _'I'm sorry that you had to die like this,'_ she thought, sparing the young man a moment of regret.

 

Then, she turned her attention back to Ducky, to find the older man watching her with an indecipherable expression on his face.

 

"You said that you had something to show me?" Ziva prompted, and Ducky nodded, shortly.

 

"After I finished my autopsy of our young man, here," he told her, "I discovered that the gash in his throat, while gruesome, is only a secondary injury."

 

"Not the cause of death?" Ziva asked, trying to clarify, and Ducky nodded. "Then," Ziva prompted, "what was the cause of death?"

 

"I discovered a subdural hematoma on the young man's brain," Ducky told her. "It caused intense bleeding in his brain."

 

"Would it have killed him?" Ziva asked, looking at the dead man in concern.

 

"Most definitely," Ducky replied, his tone solemn.

 

To back up his point, the older man reached out with a gloved hand, tipping the young man's head to the side. It took her a moment to see what Ducky was trying to show her, but then she saw it. A small, dark bruise on the back of the young man's head, right at the base of his skull.

 

"At the very least," Ducky went on, "it would have caused extreme disorientation. He would have been unable to fight off his attackers."

 

"So, they hit him over the head before they started beating him," Ziva said, quietly.

 

"Exactly," Ducky told her.

 

"So, if the blow to the head is what killed him," Ziva asked, "then why would they slash his throat?"

 

Ducky gave her a shrewd look. "That part of the investigation is yours, I believe," he said.

 

"And, I need to get back to it," Ziva replied, with a tired sigh. "Thanks, Ducky. Call me if you find out anything else."

 

Leaving Autopsy, she headed for the elevators. She'd just punched the button for the bullpen, intending to go back upstairs and continue her investigation, when her phone rang. Checking the display, she felt a smile stretch across her face when she saw Tony's number on the screen.

 

"Tony," she greeted, warmly, as she stepped onto the elevator, pressing the button for the top floor. "How are you? Is your brother all right?"

 

"I'm fine. It's too soon to tell with Logan," Tony told her, and she could hear the tightly leashed tension in his voice.

 

"I'm sorry," she told him, and she heard Tony sigh on the other end of the line.

 

"Thanks," he said, quietly. "So, Ziva, what's going on at home?"

 

"McGee and I caught a case," Ziva replied. "A Marine was found on the steps of the courthouse with his throat slashed."

 

"Nasty way to die," Tony commented.

 

"Except that Ducky doesn't think that it killed him," Ziva told him, and there was a pointed silence on the other end of the line.

 

"I hope you're not about to tell me that there's a zombie running loose in MTAC," Tony joked, and Ziva chuckled.

 

"Nothing of the sort," she replied. "No, this case is just turning out more complicated than we first thought."

 

"Any idea who he is?" Tony asked, and Ziva shook her head, even though he couldn't see her.

 

"I'm still waiting on Abby to get back to me on the DNA results," she told him. "Our victim's hands were mutilated, his teeth were removed, and his face is so messed up that facial recognition is practically impossible."

 

"Smart killer," Tony replied, a neutral tone in his voice.

 

"We're smarter," Ziva countered, immediately.

 

"Damn straight," Tony said. "So, anything else that I should know?"

 

Ziva hesitated, wondering if she should fill Tony in on McGee's unexpected vacation. But, she decided against it a second later. Tony had enough to worry about with Logan; he didn't need anything else dumped on his shoulders.

 

"Nothing," she lied, with a straight face, as she stepped off the elevator and into the hallway. "Everything's been running pretty smoothly."

 

"Good to hear," Tony said, and she knew she'd made the right decision when she heard the relieved tone in his voice. "Hey," Tony went on, a second later, "there's someone here who wants to talk to you?"

 

"I don't know anyone out in Seattle," Ziva said, confused, but Tony didn't reply because he was busy passing the phone over to another person. "Hello?" she asked, when she heard breathing on the other end of the line.

 

"Hey, Ziva," a woman's voice said. "Been a long time."

 

"Who is this?" Ziva asked, and the woman chuckled.

 

"It's Max," she said.

 

 **Chapter Seven**

 

At the sound of the other woman's voice, Ziva gasped in shock.

 

"Maxie?" she repeated, incredulously, and the other woman groaned.

 

"You and Zack," she said, with an exasperated tone in her voice. "You know, I always hated that nickname."

 

"You're okay?" Ziva pressed, insistently, needing to know for sure.

 

"I'm fine," Max told her, and Ziva could hear the smile in her voice. "I'm worried about you, actually," the younger woman went on, a concerned tone in her voice. "Ziva, we lost track of you after-"

 

Her voice trailed off, awkwardly, but Ziva had no trouble finishing the rest of her sentence.

 

"After Manticore?" she said, softly.

 

In front of her, the elevator dinged as the doors slid open with a soft whoosh, and she stepped into the empty car. She tucked her cell phone between her ear and her shoulder as the doors slid shut behind her, pressing the button for the bullpen. A second later, as the elevator started to ascend, she hit the emergency stop button. She wanted to be able to finish the rest of her conversation with Max in complete privacy, and she didn't want to risk anyone overhearing anything.

 

"What happened to you?" Max asked, into the silence that had fallen between them. "Ziva, no one could track you down. Not even Gibbs. After the escape, it's like you just vanished into thin air."

 

"That's what everyone was supposed to think," Ziva told her, quietly. "Max, I'm sorry that I scared all of you. That wasn't my intention. I just wanted to make sure that Lydecker and his men could never find me."

 

"But, where did you go?" Max demanded, insistently. "The rest of us were able to hide from Manticore, but we could still find each other. You-"

 

"I missed my ride," Ziva said, when her younger sister broke off, sounding frustrated. "I was with Kavi, and we were being pursued by the guards. They were catching up, and Kavi and I split up, to keep them from catching us. I sent Kavi toward the car that was waiting for us; I wanted him to get away."

 

"He did," Max interjected, softly, and Ziva sighed in relief. "He's studying to be a doctor, down at UCLA. So," Max went on, "what happened after you split up?"

 

"I doubled back to draw the guards away from Kavi," Ziva told her. "It was the middle of the night, and it was dark, and I got turned around. By the time I shook the guards off and got back to the meeting place, all of Sergeant Gibbs' contacts were gone. So, I ran."

 

She paused, trying to collect her thoughts, taking a deep breath to steady herself against the onslaught of memories.

 

"I wound up downtown," she went on, quietly, leaning against the wall as she switched her phone to her other ear. She was drumming her fingers nervously against her leg, a nervous habit that even years of training had been unable to break her out of. "I broke into a store, stole some clothing, a hat. Anything that I could use to not look like a refugee from a prison camp."

 

Max gave an involuntary chuckle, and even Ziva had to smile a little bit at the image her words had unconsciously conjured up.

 

"I needed to find a place to hide for the rest of the night," she said, falling back into solemnity, "but, I was tired, and I got careless. I snuck into a hotel, and I thought the room I broke into was empty. It certainly looked that way, and I decided to get some sleep. Just a couple hours, you know?"

 

"I know the feeling," Max told her, quietly. "That first night, it was so hard to feel safe."

 

"I was so tired, I didn't even care about that," Ziva said, ruefully, shaking her head. "I fell asleep on the bed, and when I woke up, there was someone else in the room with me. A boy about my own age; he said his name was Ari. He introduced me to his father, Eli David."

 

"That name sounds familiar," Max commented.

 

"It should," Ziva told her, wryly. "Eli David is the director of Mossad."

 

There was a moment of absolute silence on the other end of the line, and then Max made a choking noise, like she was trying to force words out of her throat.

 

"He recognized me immediately, of course," Ziva went on, since she seemed to have stunned her sister into speechlessness. "I thought it was all over, I thought for sure that he was going to turn me over to Manticore."

 

"Clearly not," Max finally managed to force out, "or we wouldn't be having this conversation."

 

"Eli is a smart man," Ziva replied. "He knew that if he returned me to Manticore, he would lose me. And, if he ever wanted an X5 in Mossad, he would have to pay dearly for the privilege. But, if he protected me, gave me a home with his family-"

 

"He'd have a trained soldier completely loyal to him," Max finished, shrewdly.

 

"Exactly," Ziva replied. "It's not like I didn't see what he was doing," she went on, "but I was still grateful for the protection. I stayed, I learned all I could from Eli, and over time, they became my family."

 

"I'm grateful to him, too," Max said, after a minute, her voice quiet. "For keeping you safe. Ziva-"

 

But, before Max could finish her sentence, Ziva's cell phone beeped impatiently in her ear. She grimaced at the sound.

 

"Max, I've got to go," she said, regretfully. "Duty calls."

 

"Same here," Max said, sounding distracted all of a sudden. "I'll talk to you, soon," she promised, her voice stronger as she turned her attention back to the phone call.

 

"Be careful," Ziva told her, seriously. "I love you, little sister."

 

"I love you, too," Max said, an affectionate tone in her voice. "Bye, Ziva."

 

Ziva echoed the goodbye, clicking her phone over to the other call that was waiting for her.

 

"David," she said, shortly, her demeanor switching to completely business in a heartbeat.

 

"Agent David," Vance said, and she winced at the cool sound of the director's voice. She hit the button to release the elevator, heading again for the bullpen.

 

"Director Vance," she said, with a strained smile that she knew wasn't being conveyed in her tone. "I was just coming to update you on the progress of our most recent case."

 

"We'll have to table that little meeting," Vance told her. "Another body has turned up, David."

 

"I already have a case," Ziva reminded him. "Can't one of the other teams take this one?"

 

"Not when the victim was dumped in a fountain, downtown, with his throat slashed," Vance replied, shortly. "Find this son of a bitch, David. I don't want to lose a third person to him."

 

"Got it," Ziva said, clicking off her phone after Vance had hung up on her.

 

A second later, the elevator stopped, the doors sliding open to reveal the bullpen. She strode across the room, heading for her desk, to grab her gun out of her desk drawer. She had a murderer to catch.

 

 **Chapter Eight**

 

As she clicked off DiNozzo's cell phone, Max looked over to where the other man was standing on the sidewalk, staring up at the hospital with an intense expression on his face. Max wondered what he was looking at, but then she saw the shattered window and wall of Logan's hospital room. There was a dark look in his eyes as he glared up at the destruction, and Max felt an answering surge of rage running through her veins.

 

"We need to check on Logan before we do anything else," DiNozzo told her, his voice quiet as she stepped up beside him. "Then, we'll track down this Kade of yours."

 

"I'll track her down," Max corrected, sharply, shooting him a look. "You're human; you're no match for an X5."

 

"Excuse me, but I shot her up on that roof," DiNozzo reminded her, pointedly. "I think I can more than handle myself." And, before Max could form a protest to that, he added, seriously, "She went after my brother, Detective Gibbs. And there's nothing I won't do to make sure that he's safe."

 

Max gave the man a long, appraising look. He was standing in a defensive position, looking almost like he was at parade rest, and she wondered if he'd had some kind of military training in his background. There was a hard, serious look on his face, and his dark eyes were practically boring holes in her as he stared at her.

 

It was easy to look at DiNozzo and see Logan's almost boyish features staring back at her, but Max remembered how he'd moved up on the roof, the speed and accuracy with which he'd drawn on Kade. In her time on the police force, Max had seen very few people with those kinds of skills; DiNozzo could even rival some of her trainers back at Manticore.

 

"Kade is dangerous," Max said, and DiNozzo shrugged, nonchalantly.

 

"So am I," he replied, quietly.

 

"Logan will kill me if anything happens to you," she tried one last tactic, but DiNozzo remained stoic.

 

"Logan knows that my job involves risks," he told her.

 

He sighed, suddenly, scrubbing a hand over his face. It was then that Max noticed how utterly exhausted he looked, saw the dark circles under his eyes and the gray tone of his skin.

 

"Logan's my little brother," he said, softly. "It's my job to keep him safe. And I failed."

 

"You couldn't have prevented this," Max told him, sharply. "Hell, even I couldn't have prevented this."

 

DiNozzo shot her a dark look, and he clearly didn't seem convinced by her impromptu speech.

 

"What would you do?" he countered, stubbornly, "if it was one of your siblings lying in that hospital in a coma?"

 

Max sighed, knowing that she'd been backed in a corner.

 

"I wouldn't stop until the person responsible was brought to justice," she replied, quietly, and DiNozzo nodded in satisfaction at her answer.

 

"Exactly," he said, just as quietly. "Detective Gibbs – _Max_ -" he corrected himself, using her name for emphasis, "Logan isn't just my brother; he's my life. I can't imagine-"

 

He broke off, his voice hoarse with emotion and exhaustion, but Max had no trouble finishing the rest of his sentence. And, even if she wasn't willing to admit it out loud, she couldn't imagine her life without Logan in it, either.

 

"All right," she said, accepting the other man's decision. "I probably couldn't stop you from going after Kade, even if I tried."

 

"No, you really couldn't," DiNozzo replied, bluntly.

 

"Let's go check on Logan, then," Max replied, as she headed for the entrance to the hospital lobby.

 

"And, don't even think about trying to ditch me in the hospital," DiNozzo retorted as he caught up with her, his longer legs propelling him ahead of her to grab the side door and hold it open for her.

 

"Wouldn't dream of it," Max shot back, as she preceded him into the hospital.

 

She winced at the noise level when they stepped inside the building. Far from being the quiet sanctuary the lobby had been when she'd first arrived, that morning, the lobby was fairly buzzing with activity. Doctors and nurses were moving through the lobby, helping a steady stream of patients through the main doors. Everyone who could walk or be pushed in an elevator was being escorted toward the line of emergency vehicles waiting outside in the driveway.

 

Cops were also swarming around the lobby, and Max instinctively drifted backward, behind DiNozzo, before she could be seen. DiNozzo, catching her, raised an eyebrow at her, a question clear in his eyes.

 

"Any reason you're hiding?" he asked, in a quiet undertone. "Don't you work with these people?"

 

"Yeah," she temporized, shortly, still trying to avoid being noticed by one of her coworkers.

 

"Then, why-" DiNozzo began, his voice trailing off, meaningfully, as he nodded in the direction of the other cops.

 

"I'm not actually officially assigned to Logan's case," she told him, in a rush. "I might, sort of, be in direct violation of an order my captain gave me to stay away from this, since I'm so close to it."

 

"Uh huh," DiNozzo said, his tone practically dripping with disbelief. "So, they gave you that order believing that you'd actually follow it?"

 

"Captain Hargreaves just joined our station a couple months ago," Max explained. "He doesn't really like me all that much."

 

"Obviously doesn't know you well enough to know you'd never stay away when someone you care about is being targeted," DiNozzo replied, blandly. "I've known you for barely an hour, and I've already figured that out."

 

"You're more perceptive than Hargreaves," Max muttered. "Look, can you-"

 

"Distract the cops so that you can sneak past them, and up to Logan's room?" DiNozzo finished for her, shrewdly. "Yeah, go. I've got things down here."

 

Without another word, he strode away from her and toward the cluster of cops standing in the middle of the lobby. He produced his badge with a flourish when he was stopped by one of the detectives, announcing himself in a commanding tone that had all eyes in the room immediately drawn to him.

 

Max snuck past the cluster of people completely unnoticed, momentarily grateful for DiNozzo's immediate trust in her. He could have made things incredibly difficult for her when he found out that she was investigating Logan's case on her own, without official sanction, but for the moment, he seemed to be cooperating.

 

 _'Probably for more than just the moment,'_ she reminded herself, silently. _'Logan trusts me, and it's pretty clear that his brother trusts his judgment. DiNozzo doesn't care about our inter-office politics; he just wants to make sure that Logan's safe.'_

 

But, no matter how she rationalized it, she couldn't shake the feeling that DiNozzo wouldn't have been as cooperative with another cop on Logan's case. And a warm feeling ran through her with that kind of trust from the other man.

 

She shook herself out of her rambling thoughts when she reached the nurse's station for that wing of the hospital. She rapped lightly on the desk with her knuckles to get the attention of the charge nurse, giving the woman a tight smile when she glanced over.

 

"Can I help you?" the woman asked, coming over to where Max was leaning against the desk.

 

"I'm looking for the room that Logan Cale was moved to," she said, and the woman's eyes sharpened as she gave her a quick once-over.

 

"We're a little busy at the moment," the woman told her, a definitely sarcastic tone in her voice as she indicated the rest of the hallway with a sweeping gesture of her arm. "In case you didn't hear, there was a bomb that went off, earlier. We have to evacuate the entire hospital."

 

"I just need to find Logan Cale," Max repeated, struggling for patience.

 

The woman was silent for a long moment, her eyes hard as she studied Max.

 

"I'm going to need to see some identification," she said, at last. "Patient safety; you understand."

 

Max nodded, wordlessly, digging her badge out of her pocket and flipping it open, holding it out for the other woman to inspect. The woman scrutinized her badge, silently, for several long seconds, then she finally handed it back with an apologetic look in her eyes.

 

"Sorry, Detective Gibbs," she said, with a small smile. "We just have to be cautious, especially when it comes to Mr. Cale. We don't want anyone else getting close to him."

 

"And, I thank you for that," Max said, grateful to the woman for the display of protectiveness. "Now, where is Logan?"

 

"He's being prepped for evacuation to Madigan," the woman told her, checking a note on her computer. "They're bringing him up to the helipad, now."

 

"Thanks," Max told the woman. She started down the hallway, but then she backtracked and continued, "If my partner, Agent DiNozzo, comes this way-"

 

She broke off when she saw the man in question coming toward her down the hallway.

 

"DiNozzo, this way," she called, gesturing him over with a quick wave of her hand, and DiNozzo broke into a jog until he'd reached her side.

 

"Agent Anthony DiNozzo, NCIS," he said to the charge nurse, with a tight smile, as he produced his badge for her examination. The movement was practically automatic, and she supposed that he was used to doing it. "Where's Logan?" he asked, shortly, turning his attention to her.

 

"Helipad," she told him, nodding up at the roof. "They're evacuating him out to Madigan."

 

"Let's go," DiNozzo said, shortly, jerking his head in the direction of the stairwell. "Thanks for all your help," he added, to the nurse, before they went down the hallway.

 

"DiNozzo," Max started, and the man shot her a look.

 

"Considering everything we've been through so far," he told her, "I think you can call me Tony."

 

"Tony," Max corrected herself, pushing open the door to the stairwell. "I know you want to protect Logan; believe me, I do, too. But, when we encounter Kade, you need to leave her to me. She's dangerous, and you will die."

 

"I might surprise you," Tony said, cryptically, taking the stairs two at a time as he ran up stairwell. "But, let's just take this one thing at a time."

 

Max sighed in frustration, feeling like she'd just been given the runaround. Not that she was really surprised. Logan was the same way, after all; how could she expect his brother to be any different?

 

It took them about two minutes to run all the way from the lobby to the rooftop, where the helipad was located. Max felt completely fine, a little run was nothing to her, but she was pleasantly surprised to see that Tony was also barely winded.

 

 _'I guess NCIS keeps their agents in pretty good shape,'_ she thought, wryly, following him out on the rooftop as he pushed the door open.

 

She felt a curious sense of déjà vu as she stepped out onto the roof, blinking in the bright sunlight. But, instead of Kade waiting for her, she was greeted by the welcome sight of a transport helicopter descending to land on the roof.

 

Behind them, the rooftop door opened, again, and Max turned around to see a group of EMTs emerging from the stairwell, a stretcher held between them. Logan was lying motionless on the stretcher, and beside her, Tony's breath hitched in alarm as he stared at his brother's too-still features.

 

At the sound of his gasp, one of the EMTs looked up at them, and the man's eyes widened almost comically as he looked between Tony and their unconscious patient.

 

"He's my brother," Tony said, immediately, before anyone could say anything. "How is he? Is he okay?"

 

"I'll feel better once we have him stabilized at Madigan," one of the EMTs replied, neutrally, a non-answer if Max had ever heard one.

 

But, before she could say anything, she caught a flash of movement out of the corner of her eye. She whirled around in time to see Kade coming at them, a snarl twisting her features. There was a short-bladed knife in her hands, and Max prepared herself for the inevitable confrontation.

 

But, before she could do anything, Tony had moved from where he was standing motionless beside her. He lunged forward before she could stop him, taking Kade by surprise and tackling her backward.

 

"You're not touching him," Max could hear him growl under his breath.

 

Kade said something too low for her to hear, but she could see Tony's eyes widen in momentary shock. Kade tried to get around Tony, but the man wrapped his arms around her waist, dragging her backward. Their combined momentum carried them to the edge of the roof.

 

"Tony!" Max yelled, and their eyes met for a heartbeat. He looked scared but completely determined.

 

Then, before Max could react, Tony and Kade were sailing over the edge of the roof, disappearing into thin air…

 

 **Chapter Nine**

 

As Ziva stared down at her second dead body of the day, she wondered if it was an indication about how the rest of her day was going to go. She stared down at the victim, her face firmly fixed in an emotionless mask, and then she pulled her cell phone out of her pocket with a gloved hand.

 

She hit McGee's number on her speed dial, tucking the phone between her shoulder and her ear as she crouched down beside the body. Ducky and Palmer had yet to pull the body out of the fountain, leaving the crime scene pristine while she took her pictures and measurements. Listening to the phone ring, she quietly studied the body in front of her.

 

"Hello?"

 

McGee's voice sounded distant, like he was distracted by something, and Ziva sighed.

 

"I'm at a crime scene," she told him. "Care to join me?"

 

"Ziva," McGee said, hesitantly, and she sighed, already practically able to anticipate his next response.

 

"You're not coming, are you?" she demanded, flatly. "McGee, in case you've forgotten, this is our job."

 

"This is something that I have to take care of," McGee protested. "Ziva, I would be there if I could, you know that."

 

"I'm not sure that I do," Ziva retorted, a flash of anger running through her. "McGee, what are you doing that is so important?"

 

"I can't tell you that," McGee said, a tone of genuine regret in his voice. "I wish I could, Ziva, I really do. I just – I can't. I'm sorry."

 

Then, before Ziva could say anything, the phone went dead in her ear. She cursed softly under her breath, glaring furiously at the phone in her hand. Then, she shoved her phone back in her pocket, resolutely pushing the conversation with McGee out of her mind. She would deal with his aberrant behavior later; right now, she had a murder to solve.

 

Just as with the first body, her current victim was a young man dressed in Marine fatigues. He'd been badly beaten, like the first victim, and his throat had been slashed. She had the feeling that if she pried the victim's mouth open, she would find his teeth missing.

 

Ziva reached out with a gloved hand, gently turning the young man's head to the side. Like she'd been expecting, a dark bruise blossomed just underneath his ear.

 

"Did you find something?" Ducky asked from behind her, and Ziva nodded, shortly.

 

"It looks like he was hit on the head, as well," Ziva told him. "Ducky, this attack is looking very similar to the first one."

 

"I'm not going to be able to say for sure, until I do a full autopsy," Ducky replied, "but my initial assessment would tend to agree with you."

 

"So, we have a serial killer on our hands," Ziva remarked, quietly. "So much for hoping for a few quiet days."

 

Standing, she stepped back from the fountain and pulled the camera off her neck. She snapped her pictures, taking measurements on a pad of paper she carried in her pocket. When she was finished, she nodded at Ducky and Palmer.

 

"Let's get him out," she said, stepping back as both men moved toward the body.

 

Palmer opened a body bag on the ground, and then he and Ducky hooked their hands around the victim's arms and legs, heaving him out of the fountain and onto the thick sheet of plastic. Ducky immediately knelt down next to the body, sticking a liver probe in to determine time of death, and Palmer worked to assist him.

 

Ziva, for her part, had moved back toward the fountain. Something falling from the body had caught her attention, and she reached into the cold water to grab the object as it settled on the bottom of the stone surface. Her fingers closed around the slim, leather object, and she pulled a soaking wet wallet out of the water.

 

 _'I guess you weren't as careful with this one, were you?'_ she thought, darkly, as she flipped the wallet open on the edge of the fountain.

 

"What do you have there?" Ducky spoke up, curiously.

 

"Looks like our killer got sloppy," Ziva told him, a satisfied tone in her voice. "We have a wallet, and-" She flipped through the clear card pockets, nodding to herself when she found what she was hoping for. "And a military ID," she finished, grimly. "Our victim is Lance Corporal David Wilcox."

 

"I don't suppose our killer left a signed confession tucked in that wallet?" Ducky asked, hopefully, and Ziva shook her head.

 

"He wasn't that careless," she replied.

 

"You know," Palmer remarked, as he worked on the body, "we've been assuming that our killer is a man."

 

"Well, I suppose that it's possible that a woman inflicted this much damage to these men," Ducky said, a speculative tone in his voice, "but, highly doubtful. The strength required to inflict these injuries-"

 

"Ziva could do it," Palmer said, clearly without thinking, and then his cheeks flushed a deep crimson when he realized what had just come out of his mouth. "I – I don't – I mean-"

 

"We know what you mean," Ducky said, saving Palmer from further shoving his foot into his mouth, and the younger man looked almost pathetically grateful to his boss.

 

"I didn't mean that I thought that you were the killer," Palmer muttered, sheepishly, shooting her a wary look. "I just-"

 

"You were raising a valid line of investigation that both Ducky and I had disregarded," she finished for him. "Thank you, Palmer. I will certainly remember to keep that in mind."

 

"I wasn't trying to tell you how to do your job!" Palmer blurted, a panicked look coming into his eyes, and Ziva sighed.

 

Ducky spoke up before she could, saving her from having to try to soothe the feathers that she'd inadvertently ruffled.

 

"Mr. Palmer," he suggested, his tone calm in the face of Palmer's flustered attitude, "why don't you go and make sure that we have the van ready to transport our newest guest back to Autopsy?"

 

"Right, Doctor," Palmer muttered, and then he darted away from Ziva's watchful gaze.

 

"You intimidate him," Ducky said, turning his attention back to the body lying on the ground in front of the fountain.

 

"Me?" Ziva demanded, momentarily nonplussed by Ducky's statement. "I thought that Palmer liked me."

 

"He does," Ducky assured her, and it only served to make her more confused.

 

"Then, what-" Ziva demanded, as she prowled the edges of the crime scene, making notes in her notebook.

 

"Mr. Palmer is more used to dealing with Tony, with his easy sense of humor, or young Tim, and his sense of relative inexperience," Ducky replied, calmly. "By comparison, you are rather daunting."

 

"I'm daunting?" Ziva echoed, incredulously. "What would you call Tony when we were working on that kidnapping case last month when those kids went missing?"

 

Before Ducky could say anything in reply, her phone shrilled at her, impatiently.

 

"We're not done," Ziva muttered, obstinately.

 

She pulled a bloody glove off and tucked it in an evidence bag in her pocket before digging her phone out. She hit the talk button on her phone, tucking it between her ear and her shoulder to keep her hands free so that she could keep working.

 

"McGee?" she asked, hopefully, wishing briefly that she'd taken two seconds to check the name on the display.

 

"No, sorry," an unfamiliar male voice said into her phone. "It's Pacci."

 

"Pacci, hello," Ziva said, smiling as she recognized the other man's voice. "How are you?"

 

"Not good," Pacci told her, his usually cheerful voice somber and gray. "Do you have a moment?"

 

"Of course," Ziva said, as she kneeled on the ground to help Ducky zip the victim into the body bag, getting him ready for transport back to MTAC.

 

"My team and I caught a case that I think you might be interested in," Pacci started, and Ziva resisted the urge to sigh.

 

"I already have a case," she told him, feeling like she was rehashing her earlier conversation with Vance. "Two victims, and it's starting to look like the same killer."

 

"Make that three victims," Pacci said, grimly, and Ziva cursed softly under her breath, her free hand tightening into a tense fist.

 

"Tell me you're joking," she said, flatly, and she could hear Pacci sigh on the other end of the line.

 

"I wish I could," he said, his voice heavy with regret. "Got a vic with his throat slashed, multiple broken bones, and the _pièce de résistance_ , a set of personalized dog tags tucked into his fist."

 

As she listened to Pacci, Ziva reached out and snagged Ducky's arm, stopping him before he could signal Palmer to help him load the victim into the bag. She unzipped the bag with her free hand until she could see their victim's hands, one of which was clenched into a fist.

 

 _'Can't believe I forgot about this,'_ she reprimanded herself, a little bit angrily.

 

Donning a fresh glove, she eased the young man's hand out of the body bag, carefully uncurling his tightly clenched fingers. And, just like she'd dreaded, a set of tarnished, bloodstained dog tags rested in the palm of his hand. With a heavy heart, Ziva wiped away the blood covering the words etched into the metal, and then she sighed in resignation as the word 'traitor' was burned into her memory.

 

"Those personalized dog tags," she said, to Pacci, even though she already knew the answer her fellow agent was going to give, "what did they say?"

 

"One word," Pacci told her, shortly. "Traitor."

 

Ziva closed her eyes, briefly, as all of her suspicions were confirmed. She took a slow, deep breath, trying to quell the rage threatening to rise within her, only opening her eyes when she felt steady, again.

 

"Meet me back at MTAC," she told him, her voice clipped as she struggled to rein in her anger. "I want to take this son of a bitch down."

 

 **Chapter Ten**

 

"DiNozzo! Tony! Tony, answer me, damn it!"

 

Tony groaned at the sound of his name, flapping his hand to try and ward off whoever was shouting at him. Then, as a sharp blast of pain shot up his arm, traveling through his entire body, he decided against repeating the movement.

 

He was lying on something hard, a surface that felt like concrete. He dragged his hand along the ground, feeling something rough catch at his fingers, and he was confused. He couldn't remember why he would possibly be lying on the ground, and he couldn't gather his scattered thoughts together enough to try and figure it out.

 

He forced his eyes open, closing them an instant later when the blinding light sent spikes of pain blasting through his head. It felt like someone was going at his skull with a jack hammer.

 

"Someone turn off the sun," he mumbled, wincing when even that small movement sent a fresh wave of pain through his head.

 

"Tony!"

 

There was that voice, again, demanding and vaguely familiar.

 

"I'm coming, I'm coming," he muttered, pushing against the ground he was laying on to try and lever himself to his feet.

 

A second later, he collapsed back to the pavement, crippling agony making every muscle in his body seize up. He let out an involuntary whimper as he curled in on himself, his arms wrapped around his abdomen.

 

"Don't move, you idiot," a new voice said, sharply, and he instinctively relaxed at the sound of the familiar voice. "You could have killed yourself. Moron."

 

He bristled at the insult, but he couldn't work up the energy to think of a retort. He could barely manage to open his eyes more than a crack to see a familiar face hovering over him. Then, his eyes closed, again, as blackness engulfed him.

 

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 

As she watched Tony fall, Max bolted to the edge of the roof. She reached out, instinctively, trying to grab Tony, but she could only watch as he slammed into a ledge two stories down.

 

For one heart-stopping second, she thought that Tony was dead, lying on the lower rooftop in a boneless sprawl. Then, Kade pushed her way out from underneath Tony's body, and Max let out a sharp breath she hadn't been aware that she'd been holding, the air expelled from her lungs in a quick blast.

 

"DiNozzo!" she shouted, her voice coming out in a hoarse croak. "Tony! Tony, answer me, damn it!"

 

Her sensitive ears picked up the sound of a quiet groan, and she relaxed even further at the further confirmation that he was still breathing.

 

"Tony!" she shouted, again, watching as he tried to push himself to his feet.

 

Then, to her alarm, he collapsed back to the rooftop. His skin was a sickly, gray color, and she thought she saw a thin sheen of sweat covering his forehead.

 

"Kade!" Max yelled, startling the other woman into looking up at her. "He'd better be breathing," she threatened, darkly, and her fellow X5 smirked up at her.

 

"He's not my target," she drawled, from where she was crouched down next to the unconscious man. "Don't worry, Four-Five-Two, I'm not going to do anything to your pet human."

 

"If anything else happens to him-" Max muttered, but Kade clearly wasn't paying any attention to her. Instead, she was easing Tony into a more comfortable position, stripping her thin jacket off and bunching it under his head as a pillow.

 

Max was momentarily torn, but she couldn't do anything for Tony from where she was. Logan, on the other hand, was still in danger.

 

She whirled away from the edge of the roof, stalking back to where the Medivac chopper was waiting. The EMTs had yet to load Logan onto the helicopter, still staring in stunned silence where two people had fallen over the edge of the building.

 

"They're fine," Max snapped, shaking the group out of their collective stupor. "There's another rooftop about two stories down-"

 

"Part of the burn ward," one of the men said, his voice faint. Then, stronger, he added, "Listen, if there are injured people down there, they need our help."

 

"He needs your help," Max corrected the man, jabbing her finger impatiently at Logan. "He has to get to Madigan, now. It can't wait."

 

"It really can't, Joe," another EMT, a young woman with blonde hair, spoke up, sounding almost apologetic. "Look, we'll get this guy into the air; Carey and I will go with him. You and Langdon will stay here and get these people into the ER."

 

"Yeah, okay," Joe said, scrubbing at his haggard face with a gloved hand. "God, this day-"

 

"Can we get this show on the road?" Max demanded, impatiently, crossing her arms over her chest to keep from reaching out and shaking these people to get them focused.

 

"Right," the young woman said, briskly, "yes, of course. Carey?"

 

She and her partner turned their attention back to Logan, getting him loaded onto the helicopter with quick, efficient movements. She and the young man jumped up after him, securing his stretcher into the restraints. Then, the young woman leaned forward, speaking to the chopper pilot in a voice too low for Max to hear.

 

A minute later, she heard the helicopter's engine whir to life. She stepped back as the blades started slowly rotating, watching as the chopper bearing her partner slowly lifted off into the air.

 

 _'It's going to be okay, Logan,'_ she thought, fiercely, blinking back tears that sprang, unbidden, to her eyes. _'I promise. I'm going to make everything okay.'_

 

Then, she turned and stalked back to the edge of the roof, the remaining EMTs trailing behind her. She looked down to where Tony had landed, completely expecting to find him alone on the lower rooftop. But, to her surprise, Kade was still crouched next to his motionless form, a dark expression in her eyes as she stared at him.

 

"Dislocated shoulder," Kade called up, before Max could say anything. "Cracked ribs, lacerations-" She broke off, shaking her head in exasperation as she looked up at Max. "I broke his fall as best I could, but he's still pretty banged up. Idiot probably gave himself a concussion, too."

 

Max bit back her automatic retort, resorting to simply glaring at Kade.

 

"What about you?" she called down to the other woman.

 

"What can I say?" Kade said, a smirk on her face. "I always land on my feet."

 

"Miss!" Joe interrupted them, addressing Kade. "Please don't move the victim. We need to figure out a way to get him up onto the roof."

 

"Get me a rope," Kade said, carelessly. "I'll get him up there."

 

"He could have serious spinal cord injuries," the second EMT protested, hotly, and Kade snorted in derision.

 

"Please," she scoffed. "If he had serious spinal cord injuries, then he wouldn't have been able to move like he did, before."

 

"Even minor injuries," Joe protested, furiously, but Kade interrupted him.

"Get me a backboard, or something to use like one," she told the men, "and I can get him up there a lot faster than you can jury rig anything else. And I can do it without hurting him any further."

 

Both EMTs looked like they were about to protest, so Max did it herself. The hospital must have been under construction, recently, because there were sheets of plywood stacked in one corner of the rooftop. She grabbed one of the sturdier looking sheets, heading back to the edge.

 

"Don't let this fall on him," she said, as she dangled the sheet of plywood over the edge of the roof.

 

Kade rolled her eyes, clearly not willing to justify Max's comment with a response. She grabbed the plywood as Max dropped it down to her.

 

"What about something to haul him up with?" Kade asked, as she knelt down beside Tony, easing his motionless body onto the plywood. "Rope, or something?"

 

"Nothing up here," Max replied. "Where's your kit?" she added, after a moment.

 

"What kit?" Kade asked, clearly trying to sound innocent, but Max wasn't buying her act. She just crossed her arms, glaring down at the other woman, and Kade finally sighed in resignation. "By the rooftop entrance," she said, quietly.

 

Max went back the way she'd emerged from the roof, seeing the black backpack that she'd missed the first time up. She snagged the bag from where it was lying on the concrete, unzipping the bag and rummaging around inside. Like she'd expected, she found Kade's tools filling the bag.

 

There were a pair of thin, nylon ropes coiled at the bottom of the bag, and she pulled the ropes out, slinging the bag over her shoulder after she zipped it back up. She went back to the edge of the roof, joining the EMTs who were quizzing Kade about Tony's condition.

 

Uncoiling the first rope, Max dropped it over the edge until it reached Kade and Tony. The other end, she tied around her own waist, securing the knot. Then, she dropped the second coil down beside the pair. Kade, for her part, secured the second coil of rope around the plywood, anchoring Tony firmly in place, and then she tied the dangling end of the first rope to her makeshift contraption.

 

"You ready?" Max called down, getting a sharp nod in reply.

 

Kade gave the rope a quick jerk, testing the strength of the various knots. Then, she nodded up at Max, again.

 

"Do me a favor," Max said, glancing briefly over at the EMTs. "Don't get in my way."

 

Then, she began to back up slowly, step by step. She tightened her grip on the rope as the slack was taken up, trusting Kade to keep Tony safe. A part of her wondered if that was wise, but she pushed it out of her mind. She didn't have any other choice but to trust the other woman.

 

Several agonizingly-slow minutes later, the edge of the plywood peeked over the edge of the rooftop. Kade appeared a few seconds later, one hand gripping the guide rope, the other fisted in the ropes securing Tony to the wood. She was walking up the wall as she steadied Tony's ascent, a look of grim concentration on her face.

 

The EMTs sprang forward, grabbing the wood and easing Tony onto the roof. Joe reached out as soon as Tony was settled, offering his hand to Kade, and the woman nodded, briefly, as she accepted the help in stepping onto the roof.

 

Then, to Max's shock, he twisted Kade's arm around behind her back, whirling her around so that her back was to him. He moved like a professional, like someone who'd had extensive training, but he was still only human. And no match for Kade, who had a distinctly pissed-off look on her face and a dangerous glint in her eyes.

 

Max stepped forward before Kade could do anything, separating the pair.

 

"What are you doing?" she asked, Joe, nodding significantly at Kade.

 

"She pushed this man off the roof," Joe argued, glaring at the young woman. "We need to call the police."

 

"I am the police," Max said, moving her jacket aside to reveal her badge clipped to her belt. "I have things under control."

 

Joe and his partner both shot Kade wary glances, but they both let the matter drop as they knelt down beside Tony. Kade, with an enigmatic smile on her face, moved to stand by Max's side.

 

"Thank you," Max said, quietly, looking down at Tony. "You probably saved his life."

 

"Yeah," Kade said, too softly for the EMTs to hear her, "that was pretty noble of me after he pushed me off the damn roof. And then you took away my target," she added, a distinctly bitter tone in her quiet voice.

 

"I was protecting my partner," Max retorted, just as quietly. "And, why do you want to kill him, anyway?"

 

"I don't care if the reporter lives or dies," Kade said, with a derisive snort.

 

"Fine, then," Max said, rolling her eyes. "Why does Manticore want him dead?"

 

"Yeah," Kade scoffed. "Because Lydecker is so big on explaining himself. He gives me a target, I go after it; that's how I – we – were trained. You've been away from home for too long, Max, if you've forgotten that."

 

"Manticore was never home," Max replied, shortly, deciding against mentioning Kade's use of her name, rather than her designation.

 

Beside her, Kade was staring at Tony with an inscrutable look in her eyes.

 

"I'm beginning to see that, myself," she said, softly.

 

 **Chapter Eleven**

 

Back at headquarters, Ziva strode into the bullpen from the elevator and headed straight for her desk. Abby was sitting in her chair, slurping down what was probably her third Caf-Pow of the morning while she waited for her, and Ziva nodded a greeting to the younger woman. She dropped her backpack onto her desk, and Abby snatched up the papers she had strewn across the desk before Ziva's backpack could land on them.

 

"Tell me that you have a name for our John Doe," Ziva demanded, before Abby could say anything.

 

"I have a name for our John Doe," Abby told her, an eager grin splitting her face. She sucked down the last dregs of her Caf-Pow before dropping the empty cup into the garbage can beside Ziva's desk. "Meet Gunnery Sergeant Marcus Dilby," she added, producing a piece of paper from the top of her stack with a flourish.

 

Ziva looked down at the photo of the young man, taking the photo from Abby to scrutinize it more closely.

 

"I took the liberty of doing some preliminary research into our victim," Abby told her, practically bouncing on her toes with excitement as she handed the rest of the papers to Ziva, for her to go through. "He was on a month-long leave from his unit, and he was reported missing two days ago."

 

"So," Ziva said, glancing up from her reading to look at Abby, "he disappeared two days ago, and turned up dead on the courthouse steps early this morning."

 

"It's looking like that, yeah," Abby commented.

 

"Did you find anything else?" Ziva asked, looking back down at the papers she was perusing. "You didn't happen to find a connection to a Corporal David Wilcox, did you?" she went on, hopefully.

 

"Actually, yeah," Abby said, sounding surprised. "How did you know?"

 

"Because Corporal Wilcox is our second victim," Ziva said, with a sigh.

 

Abby shook her head in disbelief. "You're kidding," she said, flatly. "They were in basic training, together. But, they separated afterwards; went to different units."

 

"Looks like they stayed in contact after basic training," Ziva commented, flipping through the papers. "There are emails here, personal letters-" She trailed off, staring at Abby in disbelief. "Abby-"

 

"What can I say?" Abby said, shooting her an impish grin. "I'm that good."

 

Before Ziva could say anything in reply, the elevator doors opened on the far side of the bullpen, and Chris Pacci stepped out with his team trailing behind him.

 

One of the older, more seasoned agents with NCIS, Pacci had a hand in training countless agents working in the bullpen, including Tony, and to an extent, Ziva. He was a steady, competent investigator whose greatest strength was in a nearly endless supply of patience, an asset when it came to dealing with trainee agents.

 

Especially when it came to his current pair of trainees, Hoskins and Randall. More enthusiasm than sense, Tony had often compared the two young men to a pair of over exuberant puppies, and Ziva found herself inclined to agree. She found herself hoping that Pacci could help the pair gain some maturity and experience. And when Hoskins stumbled over his own feet, dropping the box he was holding in his arms, she found herself praying that they weren't going to be involved in her current investigation.

 

When he saw her, Pacci waved his probies over to their respective desks, heading by himself over to where she and Abby were waiting.

 

"Hey," he greeted them, stopping by Ziva's desk. "I understand we have intersecting cases?"

 

"Three victims, so far," Ziva told him, presenting the older agent with Abby's research into Dilby. "From what you told me over the phone, it sounds like your vic fell prey to the same killer as our first two."

 

"Great," Pacci said, with a sigh. "We've got a serial killer on our hands."

 

"That's what it looks like," Ziva replied. "From what Abby was able to find out," she went on, nodding at the younger woman, "our first two victims were in basic training, together."

 

"You think that my victim is connected to yours," Pacci said, catching on quickly.

 

"The first two share a significant connection," Ziva pointed out. "It's logical to assume that the third does, as well."

 

"Well," Pacci said, "my vic's down in Autopsy, right now, being examined by Doctor Ferris, if you'd like to take a look."

 

The three of them headed for the elevators, and Ziva punched the button for the floor for Autopsy after the doors closed. Down in Autopsy, Ducky had Dilby and Wilcox's bodies on stainless steel tables, and Doctor Terri Ferris, another coroner working at NCIS, had Pacci's victim on a third.

 

"Agents," Ferris greeted them, absently, when they entered. "Mr. Palmer is running dental records on our latest guest," she added, before either Ziva or Pacci could say anything. "Unlike your first two victims, this one still has his teeth."

 

"His face is intact, too," Ziva commented, idly, leaning over to look at Pacci's victim. "Our killer is getting sloppy."

 

"His face is intact?" Pacci repeated, shooting her an incredulous look. "What is that supposed to mean?"

 

"Take a look at our first victim," Ziva told him, gesturing to the table at the far end of the room. "Our killer completely destroyed Marcus Dilby's face and removed his teeth."

 

Pacci raised his eyebrows in speculation as he walked over to the furthest table to look at the first victim. After a couple of minutes of close examination, he turned his attention to the second.

 

"Missing the teeth," he noted, after a second, "but his face is still intact."

 

"And his wallet, with military ID, was still with the body," Ziva replied.

 

"What?" Pacci asked, in disbelief. "Our killer just forgot to grab the ID?"

 

"And yet," Ziva remarked, "he or she remembered with your victim?"

 

"Serial killers generally follow patterns," Abby spoke up, a curious tone in her voice. "But, this one is slipping up."

 

"Or, there are three different killers," Pacci said, carelessly. When both women looked over at him, he jerked his shoulder in a shrug. "Hear me out," he went on. "You've got three victims, and, on the surface, it looks like they were all taken out by the same killer. Throats slashed, beaten, broken bones-"

 

"The personalized dog tags," Ziva reminded him. "But, you're right, there are inconsistencies. One vic still has his teeth, two didn't have their faces bashed in-"

 

"The slash wound on the third victim is different than the first two," Ferris spoke up, interrupting them when she overheard their conversation.

 

"How so?" Ziva asked, curiously, as she, Abby, and Pacci walked over to the third table. Ducky joined them, as well as Palmer, who'd come into the room with a piece of paper in his hands.

 

"You see this right here?" Ferris asked, as they all bent over the body. "This jagged edge, here?"

 

"Ah," Ducky said, comprehension clear in his voice, but Ziva couldn't see what seemed so obvious to the coroners. From the looks on Abby and Pacci's faces, they couldn't see it, either.

 

"What's so important about the cut being jagged?" Pacci asked, voicing the question that was on all their minds.

 

"The first two victims," Ducky said, answering for Ferris, "had their throats slashed in a smooth pattern, indicating that the slash was done in one, quick motion."

 

"But, the third is jagged," Ferris continued, picking up Ducky's thread. "Indicating-"

 

She trailed off with an expectant look on her face, and Ziva exchanged an annoyed look with Pacci.

 

"Indicating that the victim was tortured?" she guessed, with a shrug of her shoulders.

 

"Not likely," Ferris replied. "What it indicates is that the killer hesitated as he or she was slicing the victim's throat."

 

"Got squeamish during the act," Pacci said, nodding in satisfaction.

 

"So, we're looking for three different killers," Ziva said, shaking her head. Glancing over at Palmer, she added, "Did you get dental results on the third victim?"

 

"Dental records identified the third victim as John Carver," Palmer said, glancing down at the paper in his hands. "Marine Captain, and he-"

 

"Hold on a minute," Abby interrupted Palmer, who looked at her in surprise. "Give me those," Abby went on, gesturing at the papers in Ziva's hands, and snatching them away when Ziva handed them over.

 

Flipping through the pages, Abby stopped somewhere in the middle, stabbing down at something pointedly with her finger.

 

"Here," she said, showing Ziva the piece of paper. "Carver knew Dilby and Wilcox."

 

"They attended basic training together?" Pacci asked, but Abby shook her head.

 

"Carver was their drill instructor," she replied.

 

"I think we need to talk to someone out there," Ziva said, into the silence that followed. "See if anyone at Parris Island knows why anyone would want to murder these three men."

 **Chapter Twelve**

 

The ground was jostling underneath him.

 

Tony opened his eyes, expecting to see blue sky above him. What he wasn't expecting was to see ceiling tiles flashing by overhead, fast enough to make him dizzy. He bit back a moan, closing his eyes to keep from getting sick. He took a few deep breaths to steady his uneasy stomach, slowly opening his eyes to a tiny slit to let his eyes adjust to the light. He peeled his eyes open, slowly, sighing quietly in relief when the nauseated feeling didn't return.

 

Around him, he recognized the walls of the hospital. He figured that he was on a stretcher, but the all-too familiar sound of the wheels on the linoleum floor was missing, and the motion of the stretcher beneath him was all wrong, swinging rather than rocking. He instinctively tried to sit up, but he could only move about an inch before something tightened across his chest, pinning him to the stretcher.

 

"What the hell?" he blurted, and then Max's face floated into view over his field of vision.

 

"Oh, hey, you're awake," she said, shooting him a quick, tight-lipped grin. "How are you feeling?"

 

"Trapped," he said, pointedly, straining against whatever was holding him pinned against the stretcher. "Why am I tied down?"

 

"Only way to get you off the roof," a new voice said, almost cheerfully, and he craned his head over to see Ziva's lookalike watching him with a serious expression on her face that didn't match the tone in her voice.

 

 _'Kade,'_ he reminded himself, a second later, remembering what Max had called the other woman. _'She tried to kill my brother.'_

 

Rage swept through him at the thought, and he surged up against his restraints before Max pushed him back down with a firm hand.

 

"Would you relax?" she said, an exasperated tone in her voice.

 

"What is she doing here?" he demanded, furiously, his voice coming out in practically a growl.

 

"I'm still trying to figure that out, myself," Max told him, wryly. "Unsurprisingly," she muttered, shooting Kade a wary look, "she's not being all that forthcoming."

 

"We're here," a male voice announced, and Tony felt himself being lifted up and then settled on something.

 

A second later, the restraints covering his chest loosened, and he automatically moved to sit up. Pain shot through his abdomen at the movement, and he winced, but he forced himself to keep going, regardless.

 

Seeing him, Max shot him an exasperated look, but she didn't try to stop him. Kade was standing back, smirking at him, and two of the EMTs that he remembered seeing from the roof were glaring daggers at him.

 

"You need to be lying down," one of the men told him, sharply, his voice clipped. "You have several cracked ribs-"

 

"So, wrap 'em up," Tony said, interrupting him.

 

"You have a dislocated shoulder," the man continued, hotly.

 

"Nothing that can't be popped back in," Tony said, jerking his shoulder in a shrug.

 

A second later, when white-hot pain shot up his arm, radiating through his neck and head, he regretted the movement. Max, rolling her eyes, reached out and slapped him gently on the back of the head, earning herself a reproving glare from all the medical personnel in the room.

 

"Ma'am, if you cannot control yourself," one of the EMTs said, his voice tight with tension, "I will have you removed from this hospital."

 

"Sorry," Max said, but she didn't sound at all apologetic. "Don't do that, again," she added, to Tony.

 

"No worries about that," Tony said, faintly. Looking over at the EMTs, he added, "Can you just get me fixed up? I need to get out of here."

 

"You need to be admitted for observation for at least a day," the second EMT argued.

 

"I'm leaving," Tony said, bluntly, "with or without your approval." To Max, he added, "You can pop my shoulder back in, can't you?"

 

"Yeah," Max said, giving his shoulder a quick appraisal. "Shouldn't be too hard."

 

"Now, wait a damn minute," the first EMT interjected, furiously. "You fell off a roof, Mr. DiNozzo. You are seriously injured, and you need to be treated."

 

"It's Agent DiNozzo," Tony corrected the other man, sharply.

 

He shifted position on his impromptu stretcher, realizing that he was sitting on a sheet of plywood. His ribs strongly protested the movement, but he controlled his grimace of pain behind an emotionless mask.

 

"Besides," Kade spoke up, and he shot her a wary look, "you can't treat him, here. The hospital could be falling down around your ears."

 

"And, whose fault is that?" Max muttered under her breath, almost too low for even Tony to hear.

 

"Look," Tony said, brusquely, speaking to the EMTs. "Why don't you just wrap me up so that I can get out of here?"

 

"You understand that you are doing this against all rational, medical advice?" one of the EMTs demanded, even as he grabbed a roll of bandages out of a drawer.

 

"Oh, believe me," Tony said, wryly, "I understand, perfectly. This is not my first time discharging myself AMA."

 

The EMT rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath that sounded like idiot. Tony chose to ignore it.

 

The EMT moved Tony's shirt out of the way, wrapping the bandages around his chest. He taped the edges of the bandages down when he was finished, nodding in satisfaction at his work.

 

"All right, now to set this shoulder," he commented. "Langdon, you want to brace?"

 

His partner nodded, silently, stepping up behind Tony, who lay back down on the plywood. He winced when the first EMT wedged a rolled-up towel in his armpit, but he didn't resist. After the towel was in place, Langdon leaned forward and put his hands on his chest, pinning him in place to keep him from moving. Then, the first EMT, whose name Tony had yet to learn, grabbed Tony's hand.

 

Tony took a deep breath, preparing himself for the pain. He closed his eyes as the man started pulling on his arm, his good hand clenching so tightly into a fist that his nails cut into the palm of his hand. Several agonizing seconds later, the joint popped back into place, and he was finally able to breathe without pain.

 

"Got a sling?" he asked, forcing himself into a sitting position.

 

"Yeah," Langdon told him, speaking up for the first time, "and a prescription for pain drugs."

 

"No way," Tony said, shaking his head. "Sling, yes. Drugs, no."

 

Langdon and his partner exchanged looks, no doubt silently calling Tony an idiot. An opinion that he'd had to endure from other medical professionals over the years, so it didn't bother him very much.  But, Langdon's partner grabbed a sling, without comment, helping Tony strap his right arm to his chest.

 

"You really should be seen by one of our trauma docs," Langdon said, making a last-ditch effort to convince Tony into further treatment.

 

"Your doctors are needed for more serious patients," Tony said, stubbornly. "Trust me, I'm fine."

 

So saying, he eased himself off the table he was sitting on. He was grateful for the sling that kept his arm practically immobile, to minimize the jostling to his shoulder.

 

"Let's get out of here," he suggested to Max, who nodded.

 

"Kade, come on," she said, glancing over at the other woman who'd been watching everything, silently. When Kade hesitated, Max growled, almost too low for Tony to hear, "I will make you, if I have to."

 

"I'm coming," Kade said, pushing herself away from the wall.

 

"Thanks," Tony told the EMTs, and then he followed the women down the hallway.

 

Leaving the ER, they stepped out into the sunshine, and Tony automatically shielded his eyes from the harsh glare. He glanced over at Max, who was studying Kade with a curious expression in her eyes.

 

"What?" Kade asked, and Tony thought that he heard an irritated tone in her voice.

 

"You know what," Max said, pointedly. "Start talking."

 

Kade was silent for a long moment, a dark expression settling over her face. From the way she was looking around her, it was clear that she expected someone to be after her.

 

"Not here," she finally said, her voice quiet. "It's not safe to talk, here."

 

 **Chapter Thirteen**

 

"Who are you looking for information on, again?"

 

Ziva bit back a frustrated sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose with her fingers as she tried to remain calm.

 

"Lance Corporal David Wilcox, Gunnery Sergeant Marcus Dilby, and Captain John Carver," she repeated, not so patiently, for the third time, to the third person. She was getting very tired of getting the runaround.

 

"None of those names sound familiar," the man on the other end of the phone told her, and Ziva rolled her eyes.

 

"Could you please look them up?" she forced herself to ask, quietly, rather than yelling, fighting for patience. "Carver was a drill sergeant at your station, and Dilby and Wilcox were two of his recruits."

 

"They don't sound familiar," her contact mused, idly. "Maybe, I should connect you to someone else."

 

"No!" Ziva snapped, angrily. "Don't put me on-" Thin music filled her ears, and she slammed her hand down on her desk in frustration. "Hold," she gritted out, softly.

 

"You look to be in a cheerful mood," Pacci commented, as he stopped by her desk.

 

In reply, Ziva wordlessly pulled her gun out of the holster on her shoulder, placing on her desk and pushing it across to Pacci with two fingers.

 

"What's this?" Pacci asked, raising an eyebrow at her in surprise.

 

"I would like you to hold onto that," she commented, looking up at him. "Otherwise, I am going to shoot something, and Director Vance will be forced to suspend me from the investigation."

 

"In that case," Pacci countered, with a small smile, "shouldn't I be confiscating your knives, as well?"

 

"What knives?" Ziva asked, a completely bland expression on her face, and Pacci cracked a smirk as he pulled a chair up to her desk, dropping down into it.

 

"Any progress?" he asked, and Ziva shook her head as she trapped her cell phone between her shoulder and her ear, freeing up both her hands.

 

"The administration at Parris Island are being incredibly uncooperative," she muttered, calling up her case files on her computer and going over the notes that she'd been compiling since the first victim, several hours ago. "I really wish we could have gone out there, ourselves, rather than just this crap over the phone."

 

"Why, so you could threaten them, in person?" Pacci asked, wryly. "I think that would end with both of us suspended from the investigation, if not active duty, altogether. And I don't think DiNozzo would be very happy with me for getting his best agent benched, in his absence."

 

"Tony would understand," Ziva said, flippantly. "Did you get anything from the victim's families?"

 

"Carver lived alone," Pacci told her. "His closest family lives out in San Diego, a brother."

 

"What about Dilby and Wilcox?" Ziva asked, still absently listening to the hold music over the phone.

 

"Wilcox had a wife, and a three month old daughter," Pacci went on, nodding in understanding at the wince that crossed Ziva's face. "And Dilby lived with his partner."

 

"How'd they take it?" Ziva asked.

 

"Wilcox's wife knew as soon as I opened the door," Pacci replied. "She took one look at me and turned completely white."

 

"I hate talking to the victim's families," Ziva sympathized. "I never know what to say."

 

"Me, neither," Pacci said. "Anyway, Carol Wilcox could barely hold it together when she saw me. She called a friend from down the street to come over. Friend turned out to be Dilby's partner, a guy named Kevin Hart."

 

"That's … convenient," Ziva remarked. "Um, the wife and the partner-"

 

"I thought that, too," Pacci admitted, sheepishly. "For about two seconds. Turns out that Wilcox and Dilby were as close as brothers, and Carol and Kevin became close friends, as a result."

 

"They have each other as a support system, then," Ziva commented. "That's good."

 

"Yeah, they're gonna need it," Pacci replied, with a sigh. "Anyway, from what I got from Carol and Kevin, Dilby was getting some strange phone calls over the last several days. His partner said that he was worried all the time; he wasn't sleeping well. And the day before he disappeared, he spent about three hours talking to Wilcox over at his house."

 

Ziva waved him into silence a second later, when the hold music over her phone abruptly stopped. She straightened up in her chair, stretching out a kink in her neck. She hit the speakerphone, so that Pacci could listen in on her conversation.

 

"Agent David?" a new voice asked, over the phone, and she sighed in relief at the thought of finally getting somewhere.

 

"This is Agent David," she answered. "Who am I speaking to?"

 

"Captain Lance Brennan," came the reply. "I understand you're asking about my colleague, Captain Carver."

 

"That's right," Ziva told the man, and then she hesitated, unsure of how to phrase her next words. "Captain Brennan, Captain Wilcox's body was discovered earlier this morning."

 

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and then Brennan sighed, heavily.

 

"John's dead?" he asked, quietly. "How?"

 

"I am unable to divulge details during the course of an active investigation," Ziva said, hating the party line that she was forced to deliver, but Brennan didn't seem angry at her words.

 

"I can understand that," he said, instead. "But, you called us for a reason."

 

"Yes," Ziva replied. "Do the names Marcus Dilby, or David Wilcox mean anything to you?"

 

"Yeah, sure," Brennan said, immediately. "They were recruits about five years back. Good kids, tons of potential. Two of the best to come out of boot camp in years." He stopped, clearly thinking, and then he asked, "You don't mean to tell me that they're-"

 

"Yes, sir," Ziva confirmed. "I am sorry to say that Corporal Wilcox and Sergeant Dilby are both dead."

 

"Damn," Brennan breathed, sounding frustrated. "How? I know, I know," he answered himself, a second later. "Ongoing investigation, blah, blah, blah."

 

"Captain Brennan," Ziva asked, "did any of the victims have any enemies while they were at Parris Island?"

 

Brennan was silent for so long that there might as well have been a siren screaming over the phone.

 

"Captain Brennan?" Ziva prompted, and the man sighed, heavily.

 

"A recruit named Jane Davenport," Brennan finally answered.

"And, what kind of conflict existed between Ms. Davenport and the victims?" Ziva asked, watching as Pacci, beside her, straightened in his chair, an intrigued expression on his face. He didn't say anything, though, willing to sit back and let her run the show.

 

"Davenport was obsessed with Dilby," Brennan told her. "I only heard about this at the end of things-"

 

"What do you know about what happened?" Ziva asked.

 

"In the tenth week of training," Brennan replied, "John came to me. He was angry, frustrated; hell, he was ready to explode. He'd stepped into the middle of an ongoing confrontation between two recruits, Dilby and Davenport, and Davenport turned around and threatened to accuse him of sexual harassment."

 

"Wow," Ziva commented, and Brennan let out a low, bitter laugh.

 

"You don't know the half of it," he remarked. "Davenport, it turned out, had been stalking and harassing Dilby for weeks. Poor kid tried to ignore her, and when that didn't work, he turned to Wilcox for help. Wilcox convinced him to go to John with all of it, and John stepped in and took care of it."

 

"He sounds like a good man," Ziva said, quietly. "What happened to Davenport after everything was over?"

 

"She was informally charged with sexual harassment and discharged from training," Brennan told her. "A note was placed in her file to prevent her from trying to be readmitted to boot camp."

 

"Why informally charged?" Ziva wanted to know.

 

"Dilby wouldn't press full charges," came the answer. "He wouldn't admit to it, but I could see that he was ashamed by everything that had happened. He just wanted it to all go away, and neither John nor I insisted on anything further." Brennan paused for a moment, thinking. "Maybe if we had," he went on, "maybe if Dilby had gone ahead with those charges, maybe things would have turned out differently."

 

"According to our research," Ziva said, after a moment of silence, "Dilby was on a month-long leave from his unit in Afghanistan, and Wilcox was stationed at Quantico. But, we couldn't find out why Carver would be here in DC."

 

"He was running training exercises at Quantico," Brennan responded. "John was supposed to be out there for another week."

 

"With the informal charges, and the dismissal," Ziva went on, "did Davenport bear a grudge?"

 

"Oh, yeah," Brennan said, wryly. "She was spitting insults and promising retribution all the way out the front door."

 

"And that didn't worry you?" Ziva asked, skeptically.

 

"Obviously," Brennan said, sounding regretful, "none of us took her seriously enough as a threat."

 

"You would have observed Davenport during her training," Ziva commented. "Do you believe that she could have killed these men?"

 

"She was strong, and she was skilled," Brennan said, heavily. "I think, given the right chance, she could have very well murdered them."

 

"Thank you, Captain Brennan," Ziva said, and the man sighed.

 

"You'll tell me when their killer is behind bars?" he asked.

 

"I will, sir," Ziva promised, solemnly.

 

Hanging up the phone, she glanced over at Pacci, who was watching her with a speculative look on his face.

 

"So?" he prompted, when she didn't say anything. "Where do we go from here?"

 

"We pick up Davenport, and see if she has anything to say for herself," Ziva replied, pushing herself away from her desk. With a wry look over at Pacci, she added, "Do you still do the probie routine with Tony, too?"

 

"All the time, kid," Pacci said, clapping her on the back. "All the time."

 

 **Chapter Fourteen**

 

Tony sat in the booth at the café, sipping his coffee, slowly, and trying not to burn his tongue on the hot liquid. He hadn't actually expected the barista to be able to give him a decent black coffee, but he'd been pleasantly surprised. No cream, no sugar, and enough caffeine to send a wave of simulated adrenaline screaming through his veins.

 

 _'And, to think, I used to tease Logan for drinking roofing tar,'_ he thought, fondly, as he stared down at the cup. _'Now, I can't live without the stuff.'_

 

He looked up at the sound of footsteps, watching as Kade slid into the seat across the table from him. Max followed her, blocking the other transgenic's access to the aisle, although Tony doubted that it would really prove to be that much of an obstacle if Kade really wanted out of there.

 

"So," he said, quietly, before either woman could speak, "why'd you try to kill my brother?"

 

"I was following orders," Kade said, a mulish tone in her voice, but Tony wasn't about to let her off the hook.

 

"I've arrested people who've spouted off that same excuse," he told her, with a tight smile. "I didn't buy it, then, and I don't buy it, now."

 

"Didn't buy it?" Kade repeated, a skeptical tone in her voice.

 

"You're a soldier," Tony said, leaning on his good arm on the table, pinning the woman with his gaze. "But, you're not some blind, unthinking automaton. Just following orders doesn't cut it."

 

"You're right," Kade said, after a moment, much to his surprise, and clearly Max's, if the raised eyebrow was any indication. "I knew exactly what I was doing. I was eliminating a potential threat to the safety of my unit – my _family_."

 

She broke off, suddenly, staring down at the table with her hands clenched into tight fists. Even as her hair fell off her shoulders, hiding her face, Tony thought he saw a glint of tears in her eyes. Her shoulders were shaking minutely, and her breath was coming out in quiet, sharp gasps. It took her nearly a full minute to get herself under control, and when she finally looked up, again, her eyes were puffy, like she'd been holding back tears.

 

"My family," she repeated, softly, a bitter tone in her voice, one hand drifting down from the table to rest unconsciously on her abdomen.

 

When he saw it, Tony exchanged a look with Max. She looked upset, her lips pressed in a tight line, and she reached a hand hesitantly out toward Kade, resting it on the back of the other woman's shoulder.

 

"How far along?" she prompted, gently, when Kade remained silent.

 

"Two months," Kade answered, after a long second.

 

"Does Lydecker know?" Max asked, and Tony thought he saw something like fear flash across Kade's face.

 

"He knows," she confirmed, in a low whisper. "Found out a week ago – I thought I'd been so careful, hiding it from the docs, the rest of my unit-" She shook her head, ruefully, a regretful tone in her voice. "I still don't know how I slipped up," she went on. "And Lydecker certainly hasn't been very accommodating in letting me know how he found out. ."

 

"If Lydecker knows," Max asked, a careful note in her voice, "then, why did he send you out here?"

 

"Damage control," came the answer, as Kade fixed them with a tight, humorless smile. "Lydecker is … disappointed in me, to say the very least, and I went straight to the top of his shitlist when he found out about the baby. He gave me this assignment, told me that I would need to prove myself, my loyalty to Manticore."

 

"So, he gave you a target, said, go, and you went?" Max asked, skeptically. "That doesn't sound like you, Kade."

 

"You don't know me, Max," Kade said, disgust lacing her tone. "Not for over a decade. You left, remember? And the rest of us were left in that hellhole."

 

"Kade," Max started, a distressed tone in her voice, but the other woman was on a roll, and not about to back down, now.

 

"After you bailed on us," she went on, bitterly, "the rest of us went through re-education. And we learned to keep our mouths shut, and our heads down; we learned to follow orders if we wanted to survive. And you don't question Lydecker when he gives you an order, not when it comes down to a choice between your family and a complete stranger."

 

"Is that what Lydecker told you it was?" Max asked, and Kade nodded, a short, jerky motion.

 

"He presented the target-" she started, and Tony cut her off.

 

"My brother," he interjected, a testy tone in his voice. "If you're so big on family, the least you could do is acknowledge mine."

 

"Lydecker presented your brother-" Kade corrected herself, quietly, "as a threat to Manticore. He told me that if Logan Cale was allowed to keep going after us, he would expose all of us, and my siblings, my baby, would be in danger. They would die."

 

"You were protecting your family," Max said, quietly.

 

"Same as you would have done," Kade countered. "Am I right?"

 

A haunted look flashed across Max's face as she stared down at the table, pensively.

 

"About a year after we escaped," she said, softly, "Mom and Kelly were in the wrong place at the wrong time, saw someone get murdered. The killer came after them – but he never touched them. Me, Zane, Jondy, even Joshua, we took him down. Four on one, it wasn't even hard." She shook her head, ruefully. "I arrest people like him, every day," she went on. "But, who's to say that he didn't have a family waiting for him, too?"

 

"All right, so we've all got big, messy family issues," Tony spoke up, when an awkward silence fell over the table. "What do we do now?"

 

"Lydecker's got eyes on me," Kade told them. "To make sure that I finish the job. Once they know for sure that I'm not going to go through with it, they're going to be coming after me. After us," she corrected, looking at Tony and Max. "You two are in danger; you need to get out of here."

 

"I'm not leaving you, or that baby, in the line of fire," Max said, immediately, staring down the other woman.

 

"Ditto," Tony replied, just as quickly.

 

"Even though I tried to kill your brother?" Kade asked, looking at him in surprise.

 

"I'm certainly not happy about that," Tony responded, evenly, "but, it seems pretty clear that Manticore was the one to put the hit out on my brother. You were just their weapon for the job."

 

Kade nodded, wordlessly, and then she swallowed, hard, looking suddenly green. Max scooted out of the booth, grabbing Kade by the back of the shirt and pulling her out behind her. She shoved the other woman in the direction of the bathrooms in the far corner, following closely behind her.

 

They were barely gone for a minute when someone dropped into the seat across from Tony.

 

"That seat is taken," Tony said, quietly, barely glancing up from his coffee at the young man sitting across from him.

 

"Oh, I know," the young man said, "Mr. Cale."

 

Tony glanced up sharply, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the young man for the first time. Tall, shaggy blond hair, piercing green eyes that practically bored a hole through him – Tony had the feeling that he'd just met one of Kade's watchers.

 

"What do you want?" he asked, softly.

 

"You know," the young man remarked, casually, as he leaned back against the back of the booth, "you look remarkably well for a man who's supposed to have been hit by a car."

 

 _'Can't be watching you that closely, Kade,'_ Tony thought, _'if they don't know about Logan.'_

 

But, that was only a good thing, and something that he could use to his advantage. For not the first time in his life, he found himself immensely grateful that he and Logan were identical twins.

 

"I'm a resilient guy," he said, locking eyes with the young man, briefly. "Car just bumped me; nothing but scratches, really."

 

"You should be dead," the young man commented, flatly, and a chill ran up Tony's spine at the emotionless tone.

 

"He's got people watching over him," a new voice spoke up, and Tony glanced over to see Max and Kade standing beside the table, both staring at the young man with identical blank expressions on their faces.

 

The young man looked silently from Max to Kade, an eyebrow cocking in surprise. He gave Kade a small, tight smile.

 

"So, that's how it is, little sister?" he drawled, pinning her with his intense gaze.

 

"That's how it is," Kade repeated, her tone calm and even.

 

"You're going to choose a complete stranger over your own family?" the young man pressed, insistently.

 

"Freedom for me and my baby, over a life under Lydecker's thumb," Kade corrected him, her voice going low and angry. "Lane, I will not let that monster take my child."

 

Lane stared at Kade for several long seconds, his eyes narrowing as he studied the other transgenic. Beside Kade, Max had tensed up, ready to move on a moment's notice, and Tony had already eased his gun out of the holster, clicking the safety off and pointing it at the young man under the table. If he made a move on Kade (and Tony could hardly believe that he was protecting her), he and Max were going to be ready.

 

"All right," Lane said, after nearly a minute of complete silence, and Kade and Max both blinked at him in surprise.

 

"All right?" Kade echoed, incredulously, staring at Lane in disbelief.

 

"All right," Lane repeated, nodding at her. "We'll need to make this convincing, of course-"

 

"Didn't Lydecker send you to watch me?" Kade demanded, even as Tony kicked her to try and get her to shut up. "To take over my mission if I couldn't complete it?"

 

"My loyalty is to my family, first, my unit, second, and my commander, third," Lane told her. "You are family. That baby," he added, nodding pointedly at her abdomen, as Kade blushed, "is family. Lydecker isn't."

 

"You're going to defect?" Max asked, a suspicious tone in her voice, and Lane leveled an even stare at her.

 

"The safety of my unit is paramount above all other concerns," the young man replied, sounding like he was quoting verbatim. "Even a direct order will not be allowed to interfere with the safety of my unit."

 

"I don't think Lydecker meant for you to interpret that in quite this way," Max said, and Lane shrugged.

 

"Isn't that what your unit did?" he asked, in what was clearly a rhetorical question.  

 

"Lane," Kade interjected, suddenly, "come with me."

 

"Not this time, little sister," Lane said, sounding almost regretful. "Got to run damage control back at Manticore, after all."

 

"What do you need?" Kade asked, quietly, and Tony thought that he could hear a quaver of fear in her voice.

 

Lane gave the young woman a tight smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I need your barcode," he said, softly.

 

Fifteen minutes later, in the alleyway out behind the café, Tony watched in disgusted fascination as Lane carefully finished carving Kade's barcode off the back of her neck. The young woman didn't flinch during the impromptu surgery, even though she had to be in absolute agony.

 

When Lane was finished, he secured a wide bandage to the back of Kade's neck, covering the exposed skin underneath. The bandage was barely visible when she let her dark hair fall back down around her shoulders.

 

Lane folded the piece of bloody skin into a scrap of paper, tucking the disgusting bundle into his pocket.

 

"I'll tell them that there was an explosion," he said, his eyes already distant as he stared out at the street. "This was all I could salvage from the ruins before the civilian cops swarmed the scene."

 

"Lydecker will never buy that," Kade said, but Lane just grinned at her.

 

"You forget how good I am at this," he reminded her. "Be safe, little sister."

 

"You, too," Kade said, giving the other transgenic a hard hug, and then they watched as the young man disappeared into the street, gone in just a few seconds.

 

The three of them stood in silence for a few minutes, and then Max turned to Kade with a serious expression on her face.

 

"You and I," she said, gravely, "need to have a long talk."

 

 **Chapter Fifteen**

 

Davenport's house was quiet when Ziva and Pacci pulled up in front of it. There was a car parked in the driveway, and the blinds on all the windows were drawn, blocking their view into the house.

 

"You think she's home?" Ziva asked, as she put the car into park on the side of the street.

 

"Only one way to find out," Pacci replied, opening his door and stepping outside onto the sidewalk.

 

He and Ziva strode up the walk to the front door, taking their guns out of their holsters. Keeping her gun pointed at the porch, Ziva rapped her knuckles firmly on the door, the sound echoing sharply through the house. A few seconds later, when there was no response, she knocked again.

 

"Ms. Davenport!" she called, leaning closer to the door. "NCIS, Ms. Davenport! Open the door!"

 

Nearly a minute passed before the door opened a crack, a woman's wary face peeking out at them.

 

"What do you want?" she muttered, suspiciously.

 

"NCIS," Ziva repeated, taking her badge out and showing it to the woman. "Can you open the door, please?"

 

"What do you want?" Davenport repeated, and Ziva put her hand against the door, stopping her from shoving it closed.

 

"I think you know," she said, softly. "And, I really think that this is a conversation that you don't want to have out in the open."

 

Davenport stared at her for a long moment, and then she slammed her full weight against the door, forcing it shut. There was the snick of a lock clicking shut, and then the sound of distant footsteps running through the house.

 

"I'll go around back," Pacci said, jumping off the porch and heading for the backyard.

 

Ziva nodded, following the man's progress for a second. Then, turning her attention back to the house, she reared back and slammed her foot into the door, busting it inward off its hinges. She bolted through the house, catching up to Davenport just as the woman was going through the back door, tackling her in a flying leap that slammed them both heavily into the ground.

 

"You're coming with us," Ziva grunted out, as she wrenched Davenport's arms behind her back, cuffing her hands together.

 

"On what charge?" Davenport demanded, furiously, as Ziva hauled her to her feet.

 

"Evading arrest," Ziva informed her, shortly, glancing over at Pacci, who'd come up silently from the side of the house.

 

"Let's get her back to Headquarters," was all he said.

 

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 

"You still haven't explained what I'm doing here."

 

Ziva shut the door to the interrogation room behind her, quietly, following Pacci. Wordlessly, she crossed the room as Pacci leaned against the wall by the two-way mirror, and she sat down at the table across from Davenport, dropping a file folder down onto the table.

 

"What's that?" Davenport demanded, suspiciously.

 

Still without saying anything, Ziva opened the file folder and removed a series of pictures. The crime scene photos she'd taken of Dilby and Wilcox, and the similar photos that Pacci had taken of Carver. She spread the photos out on the table in front of Davenport, watching as the other woman's eyes widened minutely in comprehension. A second later, the mask had fallen over Davenport's face, again, but Ziva had seen what she'd needed to.

 

"Are you proud of yourself?" she asked, softly, breaking the silence.

 

Across from her, Davenport started in surprise, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. Pacci hadn't moved from his position on the wall, and Ziva silently thanked the older man for the trust implicit in the gesture.

 

"I don't know what you're talking about," Davenport blustered, a faint blush rising to her cheeks. Ziva smirked inwardly; the other woman was a lousy liar.

 

"Sure you do," Ziva said, a challenging note in her voice. She pushed the pictures, one at a time, across the desk so that they were directly in front of Davenport. "Do you need me to refresh your memory?"

 

"I don't know those men," Davenport said, without looking down at the photos.

 

"Well, I can understand how it might be difficult," Ziva said, patronizingly. "At least where Marcus Dilby is concerned, anyway. What's the matter? You brutalized him because he rejected you?"

 

"I don't know what you're talking about," Davenport repeated, gritting out the words through tightly clenched teeth.

 

There was a dark flush of color to her cheeks, and anger flashed in her eyes, clearly held tightly leashed. Ziva was interested to see how much it would take to get her to completely lose control.

 

"I'll admit," she told Davenport, "you had us fooled, there, for a minute. You didn't kill all three of your victims in exactly the same way; we thought there might be three killers. You almost had us chasing our shadows."

 

"Tails," Pacci corrected, softly, from behind her. "Chasing our tails."

 

But, Ziva ignored him in favor of focusing on the flash of triumph that crossed Davenport's face. The woman couldn't help but act smug, even if it would prove to be her own downfall.

 

"What happened to these men is horrible," Davenport said, false sympathy practically oozing from her voice. "But, you have no proof that I have anything to do with it."

 

"Why'd you run?" Pacci asked, speaking up for the first time.

 

"Unpaid parking tickets," Davenport lied, with a completely straight face. "I've got quite a few; I just figured the local cops were getting creative."

 

"By sending federal agents after you?" Pacci asked, skeptically. "Don't you feel special?"

 

Davenport bristled at the implied insult in his tone, her hand on top of the table clenching into a tight fist. She was breathing heavily as she struggled to maintain her control.

 

"I am special," she hissed, softly. "That son of a bitch never should have ignored me-"

 

She cut herself off a second later, her teeth clicking together sharply as she swallowed her words.

 

"Was that a confession?" Ziva asked, but Davenport remained stubbornly silent. "No need," Ziva went on, with a small smile. "We'll have everything we need on you, soon enough."

 

Almost as if they'd planned it (and if Ziva had thought of it in time, they would have), there was a knock on the door right after she'd finished speaking. Pushing herself away from the table, Ziva crossed the room and opened the door to find Abby on the other side, holding a file folder.

 

The younger woman had tears in her eyes, and she glared over Ziva's shoulder at the woman sitting in the interrogation room.

 

"I just talked to Wilcox's wife and Dilby's partner," she whispered, harshly, wiping the tears from her eyes. "That baby is so young – nail that bitch, Ziva," she finished, her eyes narrowing with anger. "Take her down."

 

"That's the plan," Ziva assured her, taking the file folder from her.

 

Closing the door, she went back to the table and sat back down. She leaned her chair back until it was balanced on the back legs, kicking her feet up on the table, crossed at the ankle. She ignored the practically murderous looks that Davenport was sending her, smirking as she read the contents of the folder.

 

She passed each piece of paper to Pacci when she was finished with it, careful to keep Davenport from seeing any of it. When she got to the end of the file, she closed the empty folder and dropped it onto the table. Taking her feet down, she let her chair fall back to the floor with a resounding crack that made Davenport jump in her seat.

 

"You know what's interesting?" she asked the silent room, at large. "There are over a dozen phone calls between your number and Marcus Dilby's. Fifteen, to be exact. Care to explain that?"

 

"He was on leave, and we talked," Davenport said, a grudging tone in her voice. "We knew each other from basic training."

 

"Parris Island, right," Ziva mused, thoughtfully. "The same place where you stalked Marcus Dilby, before you were dismissed from the program for sexual harassment."

 

"I was never charged with anything," Davenport said, with a stubborn tilt of her head. "And, anyway, it's a total boys' club over there. I don't know what those misogynists told you, but I came to them after Dilby sexually harassed me. They threw me out because I was causing trouble."

 

She looked smug, again, like she thought she'd won that round. Ziva was looking forward to smashing that delusion into little, tiny bits.

 

"So, Dilby stalked you during basic training," Ziva echoed, affecting a concerned tone. "He harassed you, made your life a living hell."

 

"That's right," Davenport said, her chin trembling. She leaned forward, and Ziva could see the glint of tears in her eyes. "You must know what it's like," she hissed, in a conspiratorial whisper as she shot Pacci, still by the door, a wary look. "All those men, and they only want one thing from you."

 

Watching her play the wounded victim made Ziva want to reach across the table to strangle her, but she throttled back the impulse. It would be so much more satisfying to take her down the legal way.

 

"So, if you were so miserable around Dilby," Ziva went on, "why'd you call him fifteen times in the last week?"

 

Davenport's eyes widened in shock as she sat back in her chair. Behind her, Pacci started laughing, turning it into a hastily muffled coughing fit.

 

"He called me," she said, defensively. "He was still obsessed with me; he was-"

 

"All those phone calls originate from your house," Ziva informed the woman. When anger flashed in Davenport's eyes, she added, "Didn't know we could do that, did you?"

 

"Phone calls prove nothing," Davenport hissed, suddenly furious. "Any judge would throw this case out in a heartbeat."

 

"There's also the matter of the fingerprints," Ziva went on, smirking.

 

"What fingerprints?" Davenport demanded, the words sounding like they were being dragged from her, as Ziva fell silent.

 

"Fingerprints on the dog tags in John Carver's hand," Ziva told her, and Davenport looked ready to explode. "They weren't even hard to find," she continued, "since they were in the blood covering the tags. Carver's hand was clenched so tightly around the tags, that they didn't get wiped away when you dumped his body. We just had to find who they belonged to."

 

Davenport looked ready to protest, but then she just shook her head, slumping back in her chair.

 

"Why bother?" she asked, an exasperated tone in her voice. "Yes," she drawled, leaning forward to stare Ziva in the eye. "I killed them. It was fun."

 

"Why?" Ziva demanded, her tone clipped with anger.

 

"Like I said," Davenport told her, "that son of a bitch never should have ignored me."

 

"Why'd you vary things?" Ziva asked, pushing her anger aside in favor of cold, clinical precision. There'd be time for anger, later. "Carver's teeth, Wilcox's face-"

 

"You got that one right," Davenport answered. "I was trying to throw you off my trail. Not that you should have ever been on my trail in the first place."

 

"It wasn't bad enough that you had to try and ruin a man's life," Pacci spoke up, a disgusted tone in his voice. "You had to kill him, too? And the people who were just trying to protect him?"

 

"They'd still be alive if they hadn't stepped in," Davenport said, dismissively. "Damn bleeding hearts. It's Dilby's fault, really. I killed him, but their deaths are on his head."

 

Ziva took a deep breath, letting it out, slowly, as she tried to stay calm. She was not going to snap Davenport's neck. She was a better woman than that; she was a better investigator than that.

 

"Jane Davenport," she said, instead, "you are under arrest for the murder and mutilation of Marcus Dilby, David Wilcox, and John Carver. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law…"

 

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 

When she stepped out into the bullpen, Ziva was only slightly surprised to see Abby sitting at her desk, an anxious look on her face. She jumped up as Ziva got closer, a million questions shining in her eyes.

 

"She confessed to everything," Ziva said, before Abby could say anything. "She's going away for the rest of her life."

 

"Thank you," a woman's voice said, softly, and Ziva looked over to see a blonde woman and a tall, black man sitting in chairs next to her desk. The man was holding a baby in his hands, and Ziva guessed that they were Dilby and Wilcox's families.

 

"Mrs. Wilcox, and Mr. Hart?" she asked, and the woman nodded, quickly.

 

"Call me Carol," she said, quietly. "Kevin and I, we-"

 

"We can't tell you how much this means to us," Kevin Hart finished for her, when she trailed off into silence. He reached out, covering her shaking hands with one of his own. "We are forever grateful to you, Agent David. Ms. Sciuto has been telling us about everything that you've done to bring Marc and David's killer to justice."

 

"I'm sorry that I couldn't do more," Ziva started, but Kevin shook his head, cutting her off.

 

"You did what you could," he told her. "They were people to you; not just nameless bodies. And, for that, we thank you."

 

"Do you need any help?" Ziva asked, feeling awkward in the face of their obvious gratitude.

 

"We'll be okay," Carol answered, for both of them. "We've got each other; we'll be okay."

 

"We just wanted to say thank you," Kevin told her.

 

Then, he and Carol got up and left, the man still holding the baby safely in his arms. Ziva watched them go with a perplexed expression on her face.

 

"People they love are dead," she said, softly, to Abby. "But, they thanked me."

 

"It's not your fault that those men were killed," Abby told her. "And you made sure that the person who killed them can never hurt anyone, again. Why wouldn't they thank you?"

 

"I guess I'm just not used to it," Ziva admitted.

 

"Well," Abby said, smugly, "get used to it. 'Cause Tony's going to throw you a ticker tape parade when he hears about this."

 

"Be realistic," Ziva said, with a laugh.

 

"Okay, maybe not a parade," Abby conceded. "But, he's still going to be pretty damn proud of you. Now, McGee, on the other hand-"

 

She glanced pointedly over at the man's conspicuously empty desk.

 

"Boss is going to kill him," she said, leaning back in her chair. "McGee probably doesn't know it, but his days are numbered."

 

 **Chapter Sixteen**

 

"So, where are Kade and Lane, now?"

 

Tony leaned back in his chair, a stupid grin on his face as he looked at Logan propped up against the pillows of his hospital bed. His younger brother was still severely injured; casts and bandages still decorated his body. The sunlight coming through the window only served to highlight the dark, ugly bruises on his face.  He wasn't paralyzed, and Tony thanked God for that, but he was never going to walk without assistance, again, and he had a long and painful road to recovery ahead of him.

 

But, he was awake, talking, smiling … Tony had never seen anything more wonderful.

 

"In the wind," he answered, after a moment. "Lane's headed back to Manticore, to keep them from finding out that Kade is still alive. As for Kade, if Max's talk with her had any kind of impact, she's headed to stay with Max's family out in Colorado. Apparently, they've got some experience with hiding transgenics right under Manticore's nose."

 

"She'll go to them," Logan said, with more confidence than Tony felt.

 

"I don't know," he remarked. "They've been pretty good at hiding, so far, but nothing's perfect. She'd have to be crazy to want to live a few miles from the people who want to capture her – dead or alive."

 

"She's going to have a kid," Logan pointed out. "You've already seen that her need to protect her baby is stronger than Manticore's hold over her. Otherwise, she never would have turned on them. Besides," he added, with a grin, "who better to protect her than a group of highly-trained and highly-motivated super soldiers?"

 

"I hope you're right," Tony replied, and Logan nodded.

 

"I always am," he said, smugly, and Tony gently cuffed him on the back of the head. "Hey, easy!" he spluttered, laughing. "Injured man, here!"

 

"At least you're alive," Tony said, and Logan reached out and squeezed his hand.

 

"Stop worrying, would you?" he asked. "I'm fine. I'm going to be fine."

 

"You might not have been," Tony muttered, darkly.

 

"But, I was," Logan said, firmly. "I had my big brother looking out for me."

 

"You know," Tony told him, in response, "my being here doesn't give you license to be reckless."

 

"Didn't stop me from trying to fly off the top of the stairs when we were six," Logan countered, "not likely to stop me, now."

 

Tony heaved a sigh. "You don't need a big brother," he groused. "You need a guardian angel."

 

"Speak of the devil," Logan said, quietly, nodding at the door on the far side of the room.

 

Tony craned his head around to see Max in the doorway. She had a tiny smile on her face that she probably wasn't even aware was there as she looked at Logan. She'd just stepped into the room when her phone rang, abruptly, and she answered it with a curt greeting.

 

Across the room, Tony could see an emotionless mask fall over Max's face. She clenched the phone, tightly, her knuckles going white as she spoke to the person on the other end of the line, her hushed voice a rumble that he could barely hear.

 

He nudged Logan with his good arm, nodding at the young woman with a question in his eyes. Logan glanced over at his partner, studying her for a moment, and then he looked back at Tony, silently shrugging. Whatever was going on, he had no more clue than Tony.

 

Max suddenly snarled something intelligible, her face contorting in an expression of near-rage. Pulling the phone away from her ear like it had just burned her, she glared at it for a second. Then, clearly without thinking about it, she hurled the phone into the nearest wall, watching as it shattered into a million pieces.

 

"Max?" Logan ventured, hesitantly. "You okay?"

 

"That son of a bitch fired me!" she snarled, stalking over to where they were waiting.

 

"Who fired you?" Logan asked, clearly baffled, and Max slumped down in the other seat beside his bed.

 

"My captain," she said, and Tony could still hear the fire in her voice as she spoke. "He says that I overstepped my bounds in regards to your case, and that I violated department protocol."

 

"But, firing you seems a little extreme," Logan protested. "Why not just give you a slap on the wrist and a write-up in your record?"

 

"Because I've already got two strikes against me," Max told him, "and the boss is a big believer in the three strike rule."

 

"But, that can't possibly be legal!" Logan insisted, angrily, turning and glaring at Tony like he was at fault.

 

"At-will employment means he doesn't exactly need a reason," Tony pointed out. "Although," he added, glancing over at Max, "you are a part of a union, right?"

 

"The captain says that my behavior is dangerous not only to myself, but to my fellow officers," Max retorted, sounding as if she was quoting from memory. "If I tried to go to my union rep, Captain Hargreaves would fight me every step of the way. I don't want to get rehired like that, fighting for every scrap of respect."

 

"So, what are you going to do?" Logan asked, quietly, and Tony could hear the slight quaver in his voice that he struggled to hide.

 

"I don't know," Max admitted, with a quiet sigh. "Go back to Colorado, maybe. Help Kade settle in. Help Dad get other transgenics out of Manticore."

 

"Isn't that awfully dangerous?" Logan asked, incredulously, and Max shrugged.

 

"Maybe I need a change of pace for a little while," she replied.

 

"Have you ever thought about working for the federal government?" Tony asked, suddenly, and both of them looked over at him in surprise.

 

"What are you talking about?" Max asked, a note of suspicion in her voice as she eyed him.

 

"You're intelligent," Tony told her, thoughtfully. "You're a damn good investigator, and you're tenacious as hell. You don't give up until you have every answer."

 

"And you think I'd do well working for the federal government?" Max asked, with a derisive snort.

 

"I think you'd be an asset to my team," Tony replied, seriously, and Max's eyes widened in shock as she got what he was insinuating.

 

"Are you offering me a job?" she demanded, still sounding like she didn't believe him.

 

"If you want it," Tony responded.

 

"If I want it?" Max echoed, incredulously. "Are you kidding me?"

 

"Is that a yes?" Tony asked, already mentally calculating all the paperwork he was going to have to fill out.

 

"You do realize that this means that you have to deal with me and Ziva in the same building, every day, right?" Max asked, a note of hesitation in her voice that was quickly banished when he just grinned at her, nonchalantly. "Well, then," she added, a challenging tone in her voice, "What time do I start on Monday?"

 

"Agent Gibbs," Tony said, putting special emphasis on her title, even if wasn't official, yet. "Welcome to NCIS."

 

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 

Ziva sat back in her chair, feeling satisfied. She hit save on the report she was working on, closing down the program and spinning away from her computer to face the rest of the bullpen. This late in the day, everything was quiet, and the few agents that were still on duty were engrossed in finishing up their own paperwork as quickly as possible.

 

Looking over at McGee's desk, she frowned when she saw that it was still empty. Her partner had been absent all of the previous day. He'd come to work for a short time, only to leave when he'd received a mysterious phone call. He had returned to headquarters about an hour after he'd first left, and then he'd taken off again a short while after that. He'd been acting strangely when he left, too, telling her how much he enjoyed working with her, and how much their partnership meant to him.

 

She'd really gotten suspicious when he'd given her a zip drive containing the rough draft of his latest novel, asking her to keep it safe for him. If she hadn't known better, she would have thought that he was wrapping up his affairs, like he was finalizing an informal will.

 

 _'Stop that,'_ Ziva told herself, fiercely. _'McGee is fine. There is no reason to think like that.'_

 

But, she couldn't manage to shake the uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. A feeling that only got worse when her phone rang, abruptly.

 

"Hello?" she said, distractedly, snatching it up and flipping it open without even bothering to check the display.

 

"Ziva?" McGee said, and she perked up at the sound of his voice.

 

"McGee, where are you?" she demanded, raising her voice to try and be heard over the scratchy connection between their phones. "I can barely hear you."

 

"I'm sorry, Ziva," McGee said, and for one second, she thought that he was referring to the bad connection, and she wondered what he could possibly be apologizing for.

 

"McGee, what's wrong?" she asked, alarmed when there was nothing but ominous silence on the other end of the line.

 

"I screwed up, Ziva," McGee said, with a bitter, humorless laugh. "I really messed up, this time."

 

"What are you talking about?" Ziva demanded, anger and worry warring for dominance in her voice.

 

"I – I can't," McGee blurted out, and he sounded anxious, almost scared. "Ziva, I-"

 

"McGee, where are you?" Ziva demanded, interrupting him when she realized that she wasn't going to get an answer to her previous question.

 

"I can't," McGee said, again, and she growled in frustration.

 

"Tell me where you are!" she snapped, irritated with him.

 

"It's safer for you if you don't know," McGee told her. "Trust me on this one."

 

"McGee, I always trust you," Ziva replied. "But, you need to trust that I can get you out of this."

 

There was another silence on the other end of the line, and for a moment, Ziva thought that she'd been hung up on. Then, she heard the distant sound of scuffling, like McGee had dropped his phone and was struggling to pick it up.

 

"McGee, talk to me," she snapped, when she thought she heard him breathing over the line.

 

"Don't worry about McGee," a new, but maddeningly familiar voice said, over the line. "I've got him taken care of."

 

"Who is this?" Ziva demanded, suspiciously. "Where's McGee? Put him back on the phone, right now!"

 

Another silence, and then McGee's breathless voice.

 

"Ziva, please," he begged her, quietly. "Don't try to find me. It'll just end badly if you do."

 

"What are you talking about?" she demanded, but McGee didn't seem to be listening to her.

 

"Tell Abby and Ducky that I'm sorry," he went on, as the sinking feeling in her gut got even worse. "And, tell Tony-" He trailed off, sounding frustrated. "Tell Tony thanks for the chance he gave me," McGee finished, in a rush. "I wouldn't be the agent I am, today, without him."

 

"McGee," Ziva snapped, but her partner wasn't going to let her finish.

 

"I'm sorry, Ziva," he repeated, genuine regret coming across clearly, even through the terrible static. "If I could do things differently-"

 

"Hurry it up!" the second voice snapped, sounding as if it was coming from a distance. "They're almost here!"

 

"Who?" Ziva demanded, frustrated at being ignored. "Who's after you, Tim?"

 

"Stay safe, Ziva," McGee said, instead of answering.

 

Then, to her horror, she heard the distinct sound of a gunshot. A second later, the phone had gone dead in her ear…


End file.
